


The Shieldmate

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Phantom pain, Sex Problems, Travel, sleep molesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 32,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne is depressed, because she’s still a maid, and she thinks she’ll likely stay one - so Jaime feels that if he can have a casual platonic boner around her in the bath in Harrenhal he can also have a friendship fuck to help the wench out of her misery. This is also what he says… and later, they both classify (*mututal love and sexual addiction*) what’s going on as friendship (and even maybe feel ok that way, because they’re getting along better than before). Of course, nobody else sees it that way, and quite rightly so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that simply didn't want to leave me in peace; a trip without my netbook caused me to start writing into my sketch boook, and I still don't really know what'll come of it... I didn't have a dictionary with me either. Hopefully, the style hasn't become too simplistic or faulty...
> 
> Please note that the story is rated "M" for the time being, but it will turn to "E" as the plot progresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own my works of fanfiction/fanart. I do not profit from the stories or drawings, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters, plot and settings go to the respective original author or artist.

Food had been scanty again, but at least it was dry and the night was warm. Jaime looked into the crackling fire, his thoughts adrift. The ghost hand was tingling. Well, the wound was finally healing, which accounted for something.

 

After a while, he looked at the wench. She was sitting across the fire and had hugged her knees. There was a painful expression in her eyes, and the reflections of the flames danced over her even more unattractive features, now that she had lost two teeth.

 

“So deeply lost in thought?” Jaime teased her, smirking, but also realising that he had already uttered more eloquent comments in his life.

 

 

To his surprise, Brienne didn't react as strongly as usual.

  
Instead, she answered: “You saved me from getting raped by the Brave Companions. And now I'm thinking that on the one hand, I may be tired of my maidenhood, but on the other hand, everything I can ever expect is to be bedded by a husband I don't want and who only wants Tarth in return – or to get raped by some filthy scoundrels. It's a depressing thought that I'll never learn anything about the enjoyment it's said to bring in better circumstances.”

 

 

Jaime looked at her seriously and had to stifle the sudden urge to sigh.

  
She was right. Of course she was.

  
He thought of Cersei and of how badly she had been treated by Robert – but his sister could always count on Jaime's passion and his fierce love for her.

  
Brienne, in contrast, had no-one. She was lonely. In fact, she had to be really suffering, if she was starting to speak to him of all people in such an uncharacteristically candid way about her most private thoughts and feelings.

 

 

“It's a pity. She's as stubborn as a mule and ugly besides, but she's got a good heart and she'd deserve some happiness,” he suddenly felt.

  
Somehow, the vision of Brienne never discovering lust irked Jaime, even if he was loath to admit it to himself.

 

 

He remembered how he had reacted to her in the baths of Harrenhal. Sure, he had been confused and very ill at the time – and he hadn't been with Cersei for ages.

  
Still... his body had responded, and he suddenly wished for a better man than himself to react to her even more intensively.

 

You only had to look at intimacy from a different angle: many men didn't even lack physical satisfaction in war, because they bonded with a comrade. “Shieldmates” these lovers were called. The men stayed together to comfort each other for a while, and when the military campaign was over they parted again.

 

“Brienne should have at least this, if nothing else,” Jaime mused.

 

 

Suddenly, a weird thought occurred to him. He pushed it aside.

  
Instead, they should better talk about who should take the first night vigil. They should absolutely discuss practical matters.

 

The unbidden idea returned and kept lurking and nagging at his mind. They had settled for the night when he couldn't help it any more, and he voiced his outraging thoughts, knowing well that he'd likely just upset Brienne, or make her angry – or both.

 

“You know what a shieldmate is, wench, don't you? Two warriors who become friends... and lovers. For a while. I... I think I could offer you a bit of passion. It may not be the romantic love everyone's singing about, but I'm not interested in your claim and I wouldn't manhandle you either. I'd even try to make a friendship fuck agreeable for you.”

“Graah!” Jaime berated himself inwardly.

  
He was being pathetic. And he felt confused as for some unfathomable reason he had no bad conscience with regard to Cersei – though he absolutely knew he should have some moral pangs.

 

And the wench?

 

To his surprise, Brienne only looked at him and asked pointedly: “Since when are we friends?”

  
Damn.

  
That was a valid question.

  
“Uuuh,” he offered. “Since... now?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to glamaphonic, mademoiselleviola and littlebirdhound for answering my questions! Your help was very useful! :-)

Brienne snorted.

“What about your oath? Aren't you supposed to abstain from women as a member of the King's Guard?”

Jaime moaned in frustration. He had anticipated her all too honourable attitude – so why on earth had he brought up the topic at all?

Perhaps the wench was like a sore spot in his mouth where he had to check three times a minute with his tongue that it still hurt.

 

“Oh, well, you're talking to the Kingslayer,” he jested bitterly. “An oathbreaker, in case you've forgotten. I've broken my vow of celibacy with my sister Cersei so often and so thoroughly that as much of the vow has remained intact as of my honour: nothing.”

 

Jaime was astonished, but Brienne's shoulders stiffened as if she were, in fact, disappointed. Or even hurt.

“I should have known,” she murmured, picked up the sword she had brought along from Harrenhal and turned her back on him for the night vigil.

 

Jaime tried to tell himself that her rejection didn't sting, but after an hour of tossing and turning on the ground he had to admit to himself that her reaction did have an impact on him.

 

Shit.

 

Moreover, he was listening to the sounds of the forest all the time. The shriek of an owl. The cracking of wood. The rustle of leaves.

Wasn't there the tapping sound of the padded paws of a wolf? A very big and heavy wolf?

Fuck, he was hearing and seeing things these days. Ever since they were alone. Without the men that had set out with the wench and him from Harrenhal.

 

Jaime's head became heavier and heavier.

In his dreams, he was drowning in blood again and again.

Until Brienne slung the rope around his middle and pulled him up into that tree – a tree that he could have never climbed with just one hand.

 

Jaime started and sat bolt upright for a moment, with a cold sweat on his brow and his heart pounding madly in his chest.

Had there really been a wolf's howl close by?

 

But no.

Brienne was sitting there next to the dying fire and looked relaxed. She only cast him a short glance, a mild question in her blue eyes.

 

“Just another nightmare,” Jaime grumbled and tried to go back to sleep.

Seven hells, the Stark spawn and their sigil had become his curse and would be his end one day, if he didn't pay attention.

 

He swore inwardly and forced his thoughts to meander to Cersei. He asked himself how much less of a man he was now. Not only as a swordsman – that misery was evident.

No, he also wondered, if he'd be a poor lover now.

He couldn't hold and caress a female body like he had been wont to do. What was perhaps even worse was that he could barely undress without help, and he looked clumsy like new-born babe. Brienne had even been forced had to clean him shortly after the Bloody Mummers had hacked off his hand and he had befouled himself while shaking from fever.

 

Jaime came to the natural result that his former casual charms were gone. Previously, he had never allowed himself to doubt that Cersei would accept him back without hesitation, because he was her beloved brother. He simply hadn't wanted to believe anything else.

But all of a sudden, he wasn't so sure any more.

 

Cersei wasn't lenient when something – or somebody – was less than perfect. And he was an imperfect Lannister now. A one-pawed lion. He had been and had lived through his sword hand – and that hand was gone. In a way, he would be considered a cripple like Tyrion from now on... only without his little brother's intelligence, he realised.

Yes, this was the harsh truth he'd have to face back in King's Landing. No use to belie himself.

 

Brienne had advised him to seek revenge and to punish those who had maimed him.

Jaime uttered a little snort.

Oh, his father would do that for him; a lion always paid his debts. And at the same time, his father would think less of him than he already did after Jaime having entered the King's Guard.

And Cersei's – and his – children? That answer was easy: he was just an uncle for them. They probably liked him to some extent, but not more... and if they had heard any rumours of the truth in the wake of Eddard Stark's beheading they might even hate him.

 

To sum it up: only Tyrion would welcome him back warmly.

It was so utterly frustrating!


	3. Chapter 3

When Brienne woke him from an uneasy slumber some hours later Jaime knew that he had only dozed for a short while. To his chagrin the wench fell asleep within minutes and even started to snore a little.

Damn – when exactly had she become the confident one of them both!?

 

In the morning, Jaime didn't need a mirror to know that his eyes were bloodshot and that he had rings underneath.

He even felt worse. Like his own vomit, to be exact.

“If I were the wench I wouldn't bed myself either,” he thought.

 

There was nothing for breakfast, and Jaime felt that he'd be less gloomy, if he had a full belly.

“If only we had thought of looking for snares and had not just grabbed the two sacks with money. My father is said to shit gold, but we certainly can't eat coins. And in this region scorched by war there doesn't seem to be a single inn to be left intact. Or normal farms, for that matter,” he commented.

Brienne shrugged.

“You know what state we were in when we left the corpses. No wonder that we didn't think of looking for snares. We can be happy that we didn't forget the pot, the rugs and the balm for your wound.”

Of course, Brienne was right, but if you had to go hungry it was still a cold comfort.

As it was, they simply started to walk and were silent for a long while.

 

At some point, Jaime announced: “I need to take a piss. I'm off into the bushes.”

Truth be told – it wasn't only his bladder that was causing him problems. He felt feeble, but the wench didn't need to know. Small wonder – he had been malnourished for so long and he was still recovering from his mutilation. The few days amongst Bolton's men with their provisions had helped him, but the time had been too short.

 

Slowly, he staggered off and found himself a quiet spot. Next, he tugged on the laces of his breeches until they fell down, took himself in hand and set to work.

Shit – the dizziness was so unnerving!

Those were the last thing before the ground started to come closer. He fainted and collapsed with a veritable thud! onto the ground.

 

When he came back to his senses he had been carried to a mossy little clearing. His breeches had been pulled up and his cock had been tucked in.

A little fire had been kindled close by.

 

“Waking up?” Brienne inquired, and there was a worried note in her demonstrative matter-of-fact tone.

 

“Yes,” Jaime croaked. “Though I could definitely do with a bit of food now.”

“I didn't notice you were so weak. Why didn't you tell me? But no, you have to make everything worse with your misguided Lannister pride. You should add a sow to your sigil for being so pigheaded. But be that as it may. I'll see what I can do about the food,” Brienne promised. “I'll try to get us something. You stay here. I don't want to have to look for you in the wilderness, just because you've passed out again.”

 

“You already sound like a captain, wench, do you know that? And do you know which prank I played on the last captain who thought he could give me orders?” Jaime teased her.

Brienne only answered: “No, and I don't care to know. Any tricks or any more stupid stories, and I won't pull you up with a rope the next time we're besieged by wolves.”

Jaime pressed his good hand on his heart and smirked, feigning innocence, while he watched Brienne grabbing her knife and leaving. The fact that he couldn't help her made him angry.

 

Nevertheless, he must have fallen asleep again, because he awoke when Brienne returned with heavy strides.

She was grinning from ear to ear, thus presenting her tooth spaces alongside with her game. She had caught a duck and a squirrel and in a piece of cloth there were also some edible mushrooms. It was nothing short of a wonder that she had managed to obtain food without proper hunting equipment – and in such a comparatively short time.

“I'm getting good at throwing my knife,” Brienne boasted, and Jaime didn't begrudge her her triumph.


	4. Chapter 4

While they were roasting the meat Brienne said: “There's a little lake close by. Well, a big pond, rather. Anyway. I don't know about you, but I could do with a bath, and the weather is fair enough.”

 

Jaime, who was feeling a little better as he had already eaten most of the mushrooms, retorted with a wry smile: “A continuation of the bath in Harrenhal – is that what you're thinking of, wench?”

 

Brienne flushed bright red, and Jaime remembered that she had obviously seen – and touched – his private parts earlier on while he had been unconscious. Unbidden, his cock stirred again.

 

“Damn! My body is less capable of standing upright than my cock!” he chided himself. Relief measures had to be taken. Perhaps, it was time to learn to use his left hand in that respect. Fleetingly, he wondered, if the wench's calloused hands would feel similar to his own ones in such a process, and it promptly caused him to twitch further down. He rolled his eyes at his treacherous body.

 

Brienne, who didn't know about what was going on with him, replied vehemently to his question about the past joint bath: “I'm thinking of getting clean - not dirty.”

 

Jaime smirked and looked at the meat over the fire. It was nearly done.

“Looks as if we'll be getting greasy first, wench, no matter what.”

He sounded ambiguous, and he knew it, but either the fine nuances were lost on the warrior woman at his side, or she chose to ignore them.

Instead, Brienne wrinkled her nose and said: “The squirrel is slowly getting crispy. The duck will need some more minutes.”

“Splendid. Squirrel's fine for a hungry man.”

 

Half an hour later, they were smacking their lips in contentment after having alleviated their hunger for the first time in days. Of course, Brienne had to help him with the food again, but for now Jaime didn't care. If he wanted to live up to the concept of friendship, which he had brought up hand over head – quite literally – it meant that he should be able to accept support and that he'd have to support the wench in return.

 

Later, Brienne showed him the big pond where she had caught the duck.

Jaime nodded and stated: “Fair enough. I'm going to start, if you don't mind.”

Content that he hadn't put on his chainmail again after his unconsciousness, and without further ado he divested his dirty tunic and stood there with his chest bare. Brienne flushed red once more, turned around and all but fled the site.

Jaime grinned wickedly, shook his head and fumbled on the laces of his breeches.

 

One minute later, his mood had changed drastically, and he hissed and spat in frustration.

“WENCH!” he yelled.

“What is it?” he heard Brienne's distant voice.

“You've made a tight double knot into my laces, instead of a bow. I can't undress in this way single-handedly.”

The wench uttered a hearty curse and returned.

 

She tried not to gaze at his semi-nakedness. Her cheeks had the colour of a cooked lobster.

At once, Jaime's mood switched again, and he felt a kind of sardonic delight.

“I think you have to look at the knot – otherwise, you won't be able to open it either. Though your blind groping might be entertaining.”

Brienne squeaked and shouted angrily: “You're having fun on my behalf. Why don't I leave you to your fate, so you have to tear your trousers to get rid of them?”

Jaime chuckled: “Guilty of charge. And you're not doing these things to me, because then I'd have no trousers, and you'd have to look at my golden glory all the time. Though I can't imagine why that should unsettle you. After all, you wouldn't see anything new.”

“You! You scoundrel!” Brienne snapped and finally yanked the laces open.

Simultaneously, she turned around and stomped away again, looking positively close to the boiling point.

Jaime called after her: “Guilty of charge again! You're wonderful, you know? I feel so deeply understood!”

A scandalised, fading “pah!” was everything he earned in return.

With another low chuckle Jaime put off his breeches and dipped his foot into the water.


	5. An old drawing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not a new chapter, not even a new drawing, but after what happened on the show I felt the need to distance myself from a certain scene, and I'm offering you my head canon non-rapist book!Jaime for what is to come. Sure, on the road in the story he'd still look worse, and his hair would be much shorter, just growing back, but perhaps the drawing may serve as a reference point...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Yavannie, autumn 2013.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Things are getting hot now. Changing from "M" to "E".

After a while, when he had thoroughly refreshed himself, he returned to his clothes, all the way shaking himself out like a wet dog. For a moment, he remembered Joffrey's grumpy, scarred sworn shield Sandor Clegane, the Hound, and Jaime wondered about the pain the burned man must have gone through at his time; he also asked himself, if the Hound still had some problems with his old facial wound, like he himself had with his phantom hand.

However, Jaime had never been much of a pondering man, and he came back to the present soon enough. His clothes stuck to his still half wet body when he headed to the camp. Luckily, the weather was still mild.

 

Brienne was waiting for her turn.

“The water is acceptable, wench. Some slimy climbers and algae at the ground, but the temperature isn't too cold. So off you go. Have fun!”

Brienne nodded and took her leave.

Jaime looked after her. His thoughts inevitably wandered back to the baths in Harrenhal. He recollected how the wench had scrubbed herself like mad with some soap. There was also the memory of the pubic hair that matched the straw-coloured strands on her head so well. Those little breasts of hers. Her tall, but also very fit body. Brienne had felt so uncomfortable about him looking at her.

It all caused Jaime to sigh. Shit. Brienne shouldn't be so self-conscious about her body. It was true that she was no beauty, but she did have her merits. What would her sapphire blues eyes look like when she was in the throes of her lust?

He was getting hard again. Jaime hissed. This was happening way too often these days. Well, in some ways it was a positive sign, because it meant he was recovering. Yet, it also confirmed that he had been without Cersei for ages, if Brienne was capable of arousing him so easily.

It annoyed him. And suddenly, Jaime wanted to pass that annoyance on to the wench to let off steam, and an impish grin appeared on Jaime's face. Stealthily he made his way back to the pond.

Even from afar he could hear the splish-splashing sounds that told him the wench was enjoying herself. His cock reacted with a rhapsodic hop. Fuck.

Jaime peeked at the water from behind a bush. Ah, yes, there she was, swimming like an ugly, but agile duckling. Well, that was no wonder with her having grown up on an island. The contours of her body, especially of her arse, were clearly visible and caused him to twitch and to curse himself once more.

Hm... now where were her clothes? Jaime looked around. Oh yes, there they were!

With the widest bastard grin in all the Seven Kingdoms he left his hiding, tiptoed over to the breeches and tunic – and sat down on them as if they were a particularly comfortable cushion.

Brienne didn't see him right away, because she had been swimming in the opposite direction, but as soon as she turned around and discovered him she started to cry blue murder.

“YOU! You arrogant lion mongrel! How dare you! Get lost! At once! And leave my clothes in peace, you accursed Peeping Tom!”

Jaime simply laughed, his mood on the rise again: “Do you know how glorious you are when you're radiating anger?”

Brienne flushed bright red. By now, she was so absolutely furious that her ire superseded her normal embarrassment. She rose from the water and came over to him with long, stomping strides.

Jaime saw all the droplets on her body, thought of a different kind of wetness and grinned like a fool.

Brienne tried to shove him forcefully away from her clothes, but Jaime somehow managed to bring her down, and the next moment, they were rolling on the ground.

Suddenly, the wench froze in shock – even her facial expression did, and her blue eyes became as huge as saucers.

“Your... manhood! It's...”

“Why, of course!” Jaime retorted. “What do you think why I'm behaving like a moron? The last time I was inside a warm cunt was so long ago that I'm slowly turning into a virgin again. I'm dying from need, awkward as it is for a man to admit.”

Brienne moved a little away, but kept staring at him.

“You'd truly even do it with me, wouldn't you?” she uttered, and that horrible bitterness crept back into her voice.

Jaime snorted.

“Don't acquit yourself poorer than necessary, wench.”

“Pfft! I don't think I can rank myself too poorly. Not after everything I've heard about my gracelessness. From you as well.”

Brienne rolled onto her back and looked up at the sky, her face an epitome of frustration.

So Jaime rolled himself around and suddenly hovered over her.

 

Only now did Brienne realise the position she had brought herself into, and her eyes widened again in sudden fright and embarrassment. Jaime, however, intended to wipe out that reaction once and for all.

“Let me tell you a secret, wench. There's not only the looks of a person that can turn on a lover. There are other things as well. The personal scent, for example.”

Jaime lowered his head, so that his face was close to her breasts, and inhaled. Mhhhhm. He purred.

Brienne stared at him like a hare would at a snake: she was utterly paralysed. At the same time, her breathing became heavier, and her nipples started to harden.

Jaime simply went on: “And then, there's the taste as well, you know?”

Without hesitating, he dipped his head a little further and flicked his tongue at one nipple once.

Brienne yelped and didn't know how to react.

“You've got a nice flavour, wench. And I guess your cunt would taste even even sweeter.”

“What... what do you mean?”

He had barely touched her so far, and yet, Brienne was already burning brightly. Holy Seven. Jaime didn't have a clue how long he could last under these circumstances. And his brain didn't care to think about it.

Jaime trailed light little kisses down Brienne's abdomen, and further down to her right knee. Then, he changed the leg and worked his way up to her middle again, all the while restricting the radius and aiming for her middle section.

Brienne was gasping again and again, unable to shove him away any more.

Good.

She deserved to burst apart from sheer joy. Given that Jaime wasn't the right man for her he still resolved to do his best in that respect.

He knelt between her legs and pushed them apart with his good hand and his leather-clad stump.

Brienne covered her face with an arm in shame and looked to the side.

“Please, Jaime don't...”

He groaned and looked at the secret body part she had never shown another man. It was glistening.

“Sweet Mother! Shit, wench, I've been the greatest oaf in Westeros for ever thinking you ugly. I was so wrong! You're divine!”

“Jaime, don't tell me such stupid...”

His mouth landed where it belonged.

Brienne bucked and moaned so loudly that she could surely be heard all the way from where the were to the capital.

The sound struck home like a bolt of lightening, shot down Jaimes spine, right into his all too tight balls, and he completely lost it, seeing stars. Like a green boy with his first woman.

 

Only when Brienne's arms were around his neck and she was holding him close did Jaime realise he was weeping.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for pain.
> 
> When I read Grrm's descriptions of phantom pain in the books I was kind of grateful that he addressed the topic at all, but I didn't think his depiction realistic in comparison to what I have experienced (and still experience) in my family. My descriptions are still toned down in this chapter, but I could imagine that even that is already difficult enough to handle for people who aren't accustomed to the phenomenon.

He tried to get a grip on himself at once. Gods, he was being pathetic! This had never happened around Cersei. Was he getting old and soft? Or maybe it still had something to do with him being weakened from all the shit that had crossed his way.

He rose, murmuring: “I guess I've got to clean myself now a second time. And I fear I'm not able to take the next step with you now. But... I hope the introduction was all right for you.”  
Brienne flushed scarlet.

“I didn't know about... this,” she uttered.

Jaime shrugged and replied: “There are different ways. This was one. I guess we can now return to the camp just as well. I'll follow you once I'm clean. And here are your clothes.”

 

Later, the whole situation was and remained awkward.

He and Brienne collected some more mushrooms for the next breakfast. They were taciturn and thoughtful. No teasing for once.

In the evening, Brienne opted for the first night vigil. Jaime didn't argue with her and went to sleep straight away, fortunately not knowing what was still to come.

At some point, however, he awoke, because his ghost hand hurt like hell. He peeled off his leather cover. In the scarce moonlight he could see the nerves twitch where they ended in his cauterized stump.

Another searing wave of pain hit him like a ram. Jaime grunted.

 

“What is it?” Brienne's worried voice came out of the dark, and he could see her dark shape approach him.

“My ghost hand, wench. It hurts. Looks as if we'll get bad weather tomorrow. Awghhsss!” he moaned, subdued by a new pain attack.

It was as if a red-hot poker was being driven into the charred flesh, and he growled.

“Oh by the seven!” Brienne gasped and knelt at his side.

And the pain was still getting worse – wave after agonising wave washed over him like a rising flood that originated in the fiery seven hells. After some time, he was rolling on the ground in sheer despair, and he was cursing and moaning between clenched teeth like a madman.

Brienne was helpless and could only try to hold him in such a way that he didn't hurt himself.

For Jaime, it became only better when it was too much for his brain after an hour or two... and he simply passed out from utter exhaustion.

 

When he awoke he was feeling the first rays of sunshine on his skin. Had he been minced by a butcher he couldn't have been worse off, but at least the pain in his stump had abated to a dull pounding sensation.

Jaime looked up and about him, because the sun wasn't the only warmth he was feeling.

Oh.

Brienne had fallen asleep at his side and was now lying flush against him.

Jaime looked at the face he had thought ugly in the past. Somehow, he had to admit, her looks didn't matter to him any more, at least not in a negative way. She was completely relaxed in her sleep now, and he realised how young Brienne still was.

But she was also strong – in so many ways. The mere fact that she had stayed at his side during his worst hours and had tried her best to calm him down and keep him safe... He had seen so many warriors falter in the face of their comrades' anguish after those had been wounded. Yes, the wench had more than proven her worth.

Jaime felt some kind of warmth surge in his heart. On impulse, he leaned over Brienne and gave her a gentle little kiss on her mouth.

Her heavy eyelids fluttered open, and she looked up at him in groggy confusion. But after just a heartbeat, she came truly awake with a jolt.

“Jaime! Are you better? Gods, that was so horrible last night!”

He showed her a wry smile.

“From a first-person point of view I can only say that that's the understatement of the decade. But yes – I am better now. I think we should prepare swiftly and seek shelter. People say that scars and wounds ache when the weather changes... and given what I had to endure last night I don't want to be in the open when the break in the weather strikes. We can nibble on the mushrooms while we're walking. And as soon as we find a safe place you'll get the sleep you deserve.”

Brienne yawned: “All right. Let's go then.”

Suddenly, she stopped right in the middle of getting up and goggled at him.

“You kissed me!”

Finally, Jaime found his normal, cocky smile again, and he retorted: “Well, wench, you helped me last night, and a Lannister always pays his debts.”


	8. Chapter 8

For the time being, it was still dry and sunny. Jaime and Brienne made good progress. After three hours, however, they reached the edge of the forest.

“I don't want to be in the open once we get into bad weather,” Jaime mused.

Brienne pointed: “Look! Aren't those fields? And where there are fields we might get shelter.”

“Let's hope the farmers don't show us the pointy ends of their muckrakes. These days, people aren't exactly hospitable, and for sound reasons,” Jaime commented.

“Well, we have to find it out. Come.”

Jaime smiled.

That was typical for Brienne: always walking ahead with her head held high, naively hoping for the goodness within the people around her to show up.

With a sigh he followed the tall warrior woman.

 

Soon, they approached a big field with beets that was overgrown with quite a few weeds and didn't look in very good shape.

“At least we won't go hungry!” Brienne laughed.

A moment later, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. Jaime could see what had upset her so: further towards the south there was the charred frame of a farm house that had been burned down completely. It was nothing that had happened recently – there was no smoke rising from the ruin any more. But there seemed to be a barn left further off.

At once, Jaime and Brienne looked at each other. That was what they had been looking for! Yet, they had to check whether the coast was clear. So they readied what weapons they had and sneaked towards the rests of the buildings.

It turned out that the farm house was really uninhabitable, just as they had expected, but there was a well left, and the water was clean and sweet. On a hillock, there were six graves that seemed to be no more than a few weeks old. Whoever had survived the furnace had obviously taken care of the deceased.

Next came the barn. It had seen better days, but it was all right. There was even some old hay left inside. Behind the building, there was also a tree with a few apples left. And nobody was there.

“Fantastic!” Jaime announced with a grin. “Let's get some beets for cooking, and then we can prepare some food for two days and later rest in the barn.”

Brienne was enthusiastic as well, and her sapphire blue eyes sparkled.

Doing a farmer's job was a dull exercise, Jaime found, but he didn't complain and did what he could with his left hand to dig up some beets. After all, they'd be snug and safe soon, and they both needed some sleep.

 

About half an hour later, the first dark clouds could be seen on the horizon.

“Looks as if we have no time for cooking the beets today, wench. What a pity. Well, at least we've got some apples.”

They returned to the well to wash off the dust and dirt that had come along with digging in the soil. Then, Brienne filled the pail with water again so that they would have something to drink in the barn.

All the while, the black clouds kept piling up in the sky until it was so dark you could think it was already nightfall.

Jaime looked up and stated: “We better go inside now.”

Brienne agreed.

 

Together, they entered the barn. Brienne positioned the bucket not far off from their scanty belongings and close to where they had already stored the beets they had harvested. Brienne grabbed a few apples, which they had put there as well and offered one to Jaime.

The Kingslayer took it with a nod and settled down on an old, comfortable, rather big heap of straw where he had arranged their bedrolls while Brienne had been busy with food and drink. He patted on the place beside him and invited the wench over while starting to nibble on his apple contentedly.

Between two bites, he sighed: “Rather spiky, but damn, wench, it's the seven heavens in comparison to the hard forest ground with its tree roots.”

 

Brienne looked sceptical, and Jaime wasn't quite sure whether it was because of the straw's texture or because of being so close to him. Likely the latter – perhaps both.

Still, she dared to sit down, hugged her knees and started to munch on her own apple.

They were silent for a while.

Suddenly, they looked up in unison: little clicking sounds started to become noticeable on the roof and intensified every moment.

“That's hail!” Brienne called.

“Indeed, wench. And it's good we're inside.”

 

The clicking sounds turned into veritable thumps, accompanied by the swishing sounds of strong winds.

“Uhh, that's nasty. We couldn't have found any better shelter. Look, the roof is only leaking a bit over there at the entrance.”

Jaime nodded and replied: “Yes, we're quite safe here. Let's lie back and have a nap. Come here to me. You need some sleep as well, and since we can't light a fire with all the hay around I'd very much like to feel your warmth.”

Brienne side-eyed him silently, thus causing Jaime to growl: “What, wench? I still feel like shit after last night, and I need some sleep. Do you think I'd ravish you? Pfft, no, certainly not – and if so, you came up with the topic first anyway. Ah, what do I care about a warrior wench's misgivings about my intentions!”

Angrily, he flopped himself backwards onto the straw and closed his eyes.

For a minute or so, there was absolute silence.

Then, Jaime felt the wench settle down next to him, and she leaned herself against him gingerly, as if she wasn't sure whether he'd push her away.

Jaime's anger expired from one moment to the next, and he allowed her to lean her head lightly against his shoulder.

A calloused finger brushed the back of his good hand for a moment.

Jaime could only think: “Damn, she looks like a warrior, but she's sometimes such a girl on the inside!”

It was oddly sweet.

“Come here wench,” he grumbled, rolled onto his side, directed her a little to move as well and put his good arm around her middle.

They were lying together like spoons now. Jaime could vaguely discern the freckles on the nape of her neck in the semi-darkness and breathed in the scent of her short hair. He liked what he smelled.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured and closed his eyes again; he was far more relaxed this time.

For a moment, Brienne still needed to adjust to her new situation, but she seemed to grow more comfortable. Above them, the hail slowly gave way to strong rain, judging by the dripping sounds. The monotonous whooshing soon caused Jaime to relax even further; his mind drifted off and he fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This story is rated "E" now for a reason. Please don't expect any plot development in this chapter - but lots of "shieldmate friendship" development. ;-)

When Jaime awoke again he noticed that it was still raining. Apart from that, he had rolled on his back, away from Brienne, and was thus feeling cold. So he turned around and settled back in at her side. She made a small, contented noise in her sleep.

Jaime could smell her scent again and suddenly remembered her fragrance... and aroma further down. It led to more intimate memories, and his body started to react.

He sighed. That had to happen, of course.

Jaime asked himself whether Brienne would accept some more body contact by now. He pressed himself a bit closer and rubbed himself lightly against the wench, preparing himself to retreat, if she fended him off.

So far, she didn't have any instinctive objections, and the body contact even earned him a delighted humming sound from Brienne.

“Jaime,” she mumbled without really waking up, but her voice had a decidedly pleased edge to it.

That caused Jaime to become harder yet. His breathing was slow and deep, but heavier than the one of a sleeper. He thought he noticed even through the wench's clothes how firm, how well-trained her backside was.

Hmmmm, this was enticing. Brienne was probably hiding her charms well, but the more he started to explore her, the bigger the reward, Jaime felt. And he wondered whether he'd be able to get Brienne interested into some more... explicit touches.

 

No sooner had this occurred to him when he started to put his according intentions into practice. He ghosted with his hand over her thigh. Brienne started to stir.

“Mmmh?” she murmured.

He stroked her leg a little more. Would the wench push his hand away? Jaime tried to prepare for that reaction.

It did not come.

Had Brienne not understood the mood he was in? After all, his arousal had to be tangible.

Puzzled, Jaime tried something else: he ran with the tip of his nose along the outer edge of her auricle. Her breathing slowly deepened.

“You sure?” she suddenly whispered shyly.

So she knew what was going on after all.

“And you?” he answered.

For a moment, her index finger moved along his. 

 

Slowly, so as not to shock her, he started to nestle with his clumsy left hand one the laces of his breeches and opened them. He nearly sighed from relief when he was free and rubbed himself against her some more.

And yes, he had been right: the wench's buttock's were muscled. Well, she was a healthy, fit woman.

What was even better was that some instinct caused her to respond to him with a tiny rubbing movement herself – and with another low hum. That was promising.

 

Mischief twinkling in his green eyes, Jaime started to carry his actions to the next level: he sneaked his good arm around her like he had done before, but this time, his fingers were on the laces of her breeches. He opened them – damn, that was quite some training for the fingers of his weaker left hand! – and unfolded the layer of cloth that had covered her womanhood.

 

Without any pressure, he just rested there for a moment, already feeling a few exposed wiry curls. Small wonder his cock twitched on the other side of her body. The wench gasped and tensed, clearly realising what was going on. Jaime stilled.

She needed a moment to adjust to the new sensation. Jaime could feel her embarrassment struggle with her yearning. When her hand brushed his briefly a second time it was a positive signal for him.

Slowly, his hand slithered a little further, brushed her bush of hair some more and reached her labia.

The wench muttered something unintelligible... and moved a fraction towards him, so Jaime had better access to her.

By now, his heart was thumping quite heavily, and he was enjoying every second. It was clear that Brienne's lust was slowly awakening, so he used his chance and dipped his finger a bit lower, reaching that sensitive spot he had already licked and suckled on with abandon.

 

How would she react?

Brienne seemingly didn't know herself what to say or to do... so Jaime helped her in her decision and ran his fingertip over her nub.

She gasped again – and was obviously getting even more confused.

Jaime continued his outrageous caresses, thus pushing her a little further, but he was also wary in case it would become too much for her. Seemingly, the wench was sensitive... and had no defence strategy for this kind of attack. She remained silent, as if she didn't want to ruin the mood, but her increasingly laborious breathing caused Jaime's cock to twitch again. It gave him a somewhat impish delight to know she knew. Just as he himself was aware of her growing arousal. Her wetness told him everything he needed to know.

 

Brienne's gasps turned into stifled moans. She also started to emulate the rhythm of his touches – and finally, it all culminated in a wild sob on her side, accompanied by wonderful spasms against his hand. It made Jaime incredibly proud to find out he could pleasure a woman with his left hand.

But he wanted more. This had been nowhere near enough, delicious as the experience had been. The good question was if Brienne could possibly take even more.

 

While the wench was still half in the skies Jaime started to push down her breeches enough to expose those parts he wanted to reach now. Brienne wriggled a little, thus making the procedure easier for him.  
Jaime resumed rubbing himself against her backside, and the friction of skin on skin was too good to be true. Carefully, he nudged her with his cock.

Brienne shuddered, tensed a little and called his name, but it had nothing to do with fear or anger. Far from it.

Jaime was thrilled – but also baffled: around Cersei he had usually been focused on her cunt and had acted very passionately besides, so he had ended up hurting her once, and he and his sister had not renewed their experiments in this direction.

With Brienne it was different. Perhaps it was the friendship factor, but he was far gentler and slower now. Relishing the details. And somehow, this led to a real shieldmate union – and it felt right. At first, Brienne was nervous and flushed from embarrassment, but she managed to allow him and was curious herself. After some minutes, her initial flurry abated, and she became relaxed and even intrigued.

“Hm, what do you think, wench?” Jaime breathed into her ear while working her tenderly further down.

“It's so... foreign. You're so... close!”

Brienne sounded hesitant. Bemused. Aroused. Needy. What a mixture!

Jaime chuckled: “That's the point of it. Being close. Good?”

“Y... yes. Please.”

Jaime was impressed. Brienne was so honest – even now, under these special circumstances. 

And she felt good. Gods.

 

He took his time, more than ever before, and he thoroughly enjoyed himself. It was weird. His old self would have ridiculed him for this, berated him for lying with another woman rather than Cersei. But now, he felt at ease. Comfortable. Lazy. Peaceful. And yet, there was lust, oh yes.

Jaime thought he was beginning to understand the appeal of the shieldmate concept, smiled and sucked on Brienne's nape of her neck.

They both moaned softly from time to time. In the end, Jaime finished with a few more erratic thrusts and a grunt; afterwards, they kept lying together in the same position, and when Jaime had recovered a little, he managed to stroke Brienne to a second peak. That the wench was opening up to him now so easily and that she was so responsive made him happy.

They felt both heavy, tired and sated, their minds empty for the time being. Snug against each other, they fell asleep again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I've altered parts of the previous chapter. I hope that it turns out to be an improvement.

When they awoke again the next morning the rain had finally stopped. The problem, however, was that outside everything was still muddy and sopping wet so that a fire was next to impossible. Which meant that their breakfast was reduced to apples again. They both sighed at the prospect.

 

At first, they munched on their fruit in silence.

After a while, Jaime dared to ask: “Well, looking back... what do you think, wench?”

Brienne nearly choked on a bite and flushed bright red.

In a husky voice and with averted eyes she finally replied: “I stand firm in what I said last night.”

Jaime felt he needed more than that: “You're not saying you liked it to please me?”

“No! I'd never lie to you!”

 

Jaime looked at her incredulous, indignant face and could only think in wonder: “She's so open! So honest! Gods, she must never stay in King's Landing for longer than a few days. The court would eat her alive. Come to think of it... she might end up like the Starks. That mustn't happen. I won't let it happen to her. I'm her... friend now.”

 

Aloud, he admitted: “I liked it, too.”

“You're not saying that to coddle an ugly woman?”

“What if I said I'd do it again?”

Brienne goggled at him, mouth agape, and Jaime added quickly: “Only if you wanted to repeat it, of course.”

“Wouldn't that become too risky? I'd likely end up with child.”

 

Suddenly, Jaime's heart started to thunder. For a split second, he could see it with his inner eye: Brienne at Casterly Rock, the Lady of the Rock, salty wind in her hair, her belly heavy with child...

 

At once, he shook himself out of the reverie. That was the most stupid idea he had ever had! He had given up his right to the Rock, to marrying... and he had done so with a light heart. The heavy stuff had come later, and it had had nothing to do with being an heir or not, or with being a bachelor.

Well, here was a problem normal Shieldmates were not confronted with.

 

Jaime attempted a smirk, but somehow, it felt unsuitable on his face for once.

“What we did last night wasn't very risky.”

Brienne creased her brow and asked: “Why not?”

Jaime was rather surprised: Brienne had lived amongst soldiers for so long and had not listened to their lewd details? Or was she blocking some knowledge, because she had found it too uncomfortable?

So he coughed and simply stated: “I didn't leave my seed in the right place to sire a child on you.”

Brienne still had no clue what he was referring to, and Jaime suddenly felt his ears go red – another thing that had never happened around Cersei. A Jaime Lannister normally didn't blush easily.

After another cough he added: “Anyway... if I got you with child I'd care for it. If you allowed it. And I'd ask you to allow it.”

 

Suddenly, Brienne smiled, and her blue eyes started to shine. Jaime's ears became really warm now.

“If I can rely on you... you're a real friend then. Still: promise me to be careful! – And now let's have a look outside and see, if we can find some acceptable wood, even if our chances are small. I want to cook those stupid beets, and we have to travel on as well.”

 

Jaime had never been so happy about changing the subject. He jumped up energetically.

“Good idea, wench! These have been enough apples for my taste. Let's go!”


	11. Chapter 11

It turned out they had to give up on the idea of building a fire and of cooking their beets. So they decided to carry along as much food as they could on the trip that still lay ahead of them.

 

Jaime felt something he wasn't accustomed to when they finally left the barn in order to go on with their voyage: nostalgia. After all, it was the place where he and Brienne had become truly intimate for the first time. At once, Jaime berated himself. This was intolerable. Pathetic. What a nuisance that his mood still didn't improve.

Did the wench feel strange as well?

She was calm, serious, and Jaime didn't know what was going on inside her head. Somehow, he felt she needed her privacy to process their tumble in the hay and didn't besiege her with questions or comments.

 

They walked on for hours and hours and passed several burned farms. No, the times of war had not been gentle with the Riverlands.

 

Towards the evening, however, they were incredibly lucky: they chanced upon a little road – and at the road there was an inn. No ruin, no abandoned place, but alive and with customers inside. What was better was that they had the coin to be able to afford a meal, a bath and a room!

Above the entrance door a sign showed them a plucked hen, thus indicating the name of the inn. Carefully, Brienne and Jaime looked for any problematic sigils, but there seemed to be only smallfolk around.  
Fantastic!

 

They entered the building. As could be expected, the attracted curiosity at once.

There was a lean, spotty youngster behind the counter. On seeing them, he straightened up and hobbled towards his new guests. He had a clubfoot.

 

“Good evening! My name's Joss. Welcome in the “Plucked Hen”! What can I do for you, good man and... woman?”

Jaime clicked his tongue.

“If possible: warm food. An ale would be great, too. A bath. A place to sleep.”

 

The teenager nodded eagerly.

“We don't have much food, at least not much meat, but I can offer you a barley mulligan with a few scraps of ham. Our ale is strong and dark – like sin itself.”

Jaime laughed: “Like sin! Oh, I'll like that. You too, wench, won't you?”

Brienne blushed and smiled, showing her tooth space.

The lad continued: “A bath can be ready in an hour. We've even got some lavender soap. The place is busy as you can see. Three families have arrived, because they were evicted from their farms by pillaging scoundrels. That's also why we've got only one room left, so actually you're lucky you and your wife can find lodging for the night. And the chamber has just been cleaned thoroughly, so it shouldn't be verminous.”

Brienne coughed and nearly chocked on her spit. Jaime nudged her with his foot, trying to tell her she shouldn't make a fuss about having been called his wife. He himself showed a purposeful, wide grin.  
Whether the wench understood the message or just didn't know how to respond – at least she didn't embarrass them by admitting they were just shieldmates.

 

Five minutes later, the two were sitting at a table – right in front of a bowl with barley mulligan and a big tankard of beer. Jaime nearly moaned in sheer happiness. Warm food! Something he could eat with a spoon in his left hand without any problems! And given the humble situation the dish was even surprisingly tasty, with fresh herbs and some local spices. And the drink! Gods!

Brienne looked just as delighted, and her sparkling blue eyes were nice to behold.

They didn't talk much, because they were too busy shovelling food into their mouths, but after a while they were feeling comfortably full and warm, and Brienne couldn't even prevent a little burp. She blushed once more. Jaime chuckled and followed her example.

 

He was also starting to feel a little tipsy from the beer. Ale hadn't been a part of his diet for so long, and this brew was really as strong and dark as they had been promised.

Brienne leaned over, her eyes a little glassy now, too, and asked: “What do you think? If the room is all right – can we stay here for two nights? It would be so good to recover a little.”

 

Jaime smirked and shot back: “Already thinking of some relaxing moments, wench?”

Brienne was a bit shocked.

“Jaime! Not here!” she whispered urgently.

He laughed.

But after a moment, he got serious again and said: “We should better invent some false names, just in case. It'll be a weak cover-up, but every little helps.”

That earned him Brienne's support: “Call me Nyma then. After Nymeria.”

“Fine. My new name is... Calen.”

Suddenly, Jaime winced.

“What is it?”

“Just remembering,” he replied. “That big wolf bitch that belonged to Arya Stark and that attacked our party in the woods – her name is Nymeria as well.”

“Oh. I forgot.”

“Never mind. She didn't kill us. Just the others.”

He coughed.

 

“Sorry,” there was suddenly a male voice from the side.

An elderly man was addressing them. He looked a little more refined than the average farmer and was wearing something akin to a simple doublet, even if it was patched in a few places.

“I didn't eavesdrop, I swear, but were you just talking of a very big wolf?”

“Erm, yes,” Brienne admitted.

“Did you face her?”

“Yes, and we survived by climbing on a tree.”

The man whistled.

“Finyan my name. A merchant here in the Riverlands. At least I was one before the war. Things are difficult for everyone now. But back to the topic: I've heard many rumours of that wolf. If you've survived an attack from her pack you're very lucky bastards.”

“Indeed,” was Jaime's monosyllabic answer.

 

Luckily, they didn't have to give away any more information, because Joss interrupted them and told them that the bath was ready.

An evil grin spread on Jaime's face. He grabbed Brienne's hand and said loudly: “Well, Nyma, dearest wife, let's have a bath together!”

It was funny to decide who got redder in the face after this announcement: the young publican or the wench. Some lewd wolf whistles from the neighbouring table even intensified his impish delight. He knew Brienne would take revenge later, but he was tipsy from the beer, and it had been to good an opportunity to let it slip.


	12. Chapter 12

No sooner had they reached their room down the corridor on the first floor when Brienne shoved Jaime against the wall and hissed: “How dare you! This was so embarrassing! If anyone finds out who we are... they'll call me your whore!”

Jaime's glee evaporated from one moment to the next.

“You are no whore, Brienne, and you know it. And for once, I must agree with my father's words: a lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of a sheep .”

“Like you don't care when they call you “kingslayer”, you mean? And besides: you are the lion here – I am none!”

 

Damn, the wench was learning quickly how to undermine his entertainment. And how to make him feel like shit.

He sighed.

“Brienne, this was just a little joke. Just a little bit of fun.”

“Yes, a little joke. Like those ones in Renly's camp. I can live without them, thank you.”

Oh. Fuck.

That obviously explained her snappish behaviour.

 

Jaime ran his hand through his hair... or at least he tried to until he noticed that there was no right hand to do that.

He cursed and continued with a look at the bath tub: “Well, let me make it up then by letting you bathe first.”

Brienne's shoulders relaxed a bit.

“All right. And perhaps you could look away THIS time.”

Jaime shrugged, averted his eyes and walked over to the bed to inspect it. To his tremendous relief it looked really rather clean. It was only a bit narrow for two people of their size. With regard to their sleeping positions there seemed to be some spooning ahead. Hopefully, Brienne would be in a better mood by then.

 

Behind him, he could hear hear her strip and step into the warm water.

“Well, wench, what do you say about the bath?”

“I feel like a clasp knife, because the tub is so small, but the water is fine. They've put herbs into it, and the soap smells really good. How's the bed?”

Brienne already sounded a bit mollified.

“There really don't seem to be too many fleas or bed bugs. Fresh linen with just a few patches. No downy mattress like in the Red Keep, but fairly decent nevertheless. We should really stay for more than one night. You don't find many rural inns with this standard.”

“Sounds good in my ears.”

There were more light splashing sounds, and images of Brienne's naked form popped up in Jaime's mind. What a pity she was still so skittish about her body, but after years of derision and a septa's teachings it was no wonder she reacted like that. He could understand her, even more so when he thought of how he himself had reacted to her and of how he had treated her at first. Another one of his sub-glorious chapters in life.

 

In anticipation of his own bath Jaime stripped as well and lay back on the bed. He noticed clearly now that he was very tired: from the strain of the voyage, the large amount of food in his belly and finally the beer. The fact that his cock was flaccid though Brienne was bathing next to him only proved this point.

No five minutes later, Brienne left the tub, rubbed herself dry with a towel and sneaked under the coverlets without looking at his nakedness once.

“Still half a maid, but not one of those young girls who while away their time in the bath,” Jaime thought and made for the tub himself. The water was a bit dirty after Brienne had washed off the dust from their day's journey, but it was still warm, so he moaned happily.

“Wench, I tell you: I'll sleep like a baby tonight. This is too good to be true!”

Brienne chuckled a little, which indicated that her mood had improved considerably.

“In that case, I won't call you “Kingslayer” any more, but “Lazy Lion”.”

Jaime laughed back: “Just you wait until I'm not befuddled from the beer any more, and I'll show you my “Lazy Lion”!”

“Meow.”

 

Jaime nearly slid with his head into the bath water due to the surprised realization that the two of them were suddenly... flirting. Or, well, they were shieldmates, it wasn't really flirting, but more something akin to friendly playfulness. Ah, but no matter what – Jaime started to grin like a Casterly cat.

Energetically, he rubbed himself clean with the fragrant piece of soap and rose from the tub afterwards.

 

“Wench, there's no second towel. I need yours!”

The desired piece of cloth flew through the room, but since Brienne had tried not to look at his naked body she had aimed badly, and Jaime was too clumsy with his left hand... so the towel landed directly in the tub.

“Damn! Brienne, please don't be such a chicken! You won't go blind from seeing my cock, you know?”

“I'm... I'm sorry...”

Brienne sounded as embarrassed as contrite.

Jaime fished the towel out of the water and wrung it out, and afterwards, he grabbed his tunic to dry himself scantily.

“Looks as if you'll get a lazy and a damp Lion in bed tonight, wench.”

Brienne sighed and replied: “Well, but you're clean. That's better than nothing.”

“That's true again. Here I come!”

 

Jaime slipped under the covers as well.

Brienne's body was already warm from the bed, and he was delighted to really feel her skin on skin this time. The wench uttered a little squeal, but she didn't sound really deterred. And soon enough, Jaime found out he was right, for Brienne relaxed and even started to lean against him. So he put his arm around her middle and enjoyed it a lot to sense her fit body flush against his.

He hummed contentedly and felt incredibly good. Holding a woman peacefully like this was still so foreign to him! No fear of being discovered. No need to hurry up and to finish quickly. It was wonderful.

Brienne turned around in his embrace, and he could feel her small breasts against his chest. Hmm, that was sweet! His hands started to roam over her backside, and she did the same with him. It was the first time she dared to touch him like this, to explore him.

They took their time, mutually counting their scars and telling each other about the various origins. It was a kind of conversation Jaime had never had before.

He would have liked to get hard, but his cock didn't play along. Blasted inebriant, numbing beer. Yet, Brienne didn't seem to care much, perhaps because any kind of intimacy was still new to her, so that even stroking him was satisfying. Cersei would have been enraged in her situation.

Jaime pushed the memory of his sister – and his increasingly bad conscience – aside and allowed himself to feel heavier and heavier. Slowly, his mind started to drift, and he fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know - somehow, it has turned into plotless smut, and the end is perhaps a bit weak, I don't know. Well, no real cliffhanger for once. ;-)

He awoke rather early the next morning.

His first thought was: “I need a piss.”

Then: “Oh. Cock stiff now. Ah, better late than never.”

Next: “No hangover. Splendid!”

Finally: “She's lying behind me. And she's awake, too.”

 

A moment later, a strong arm reached around his middle and a calloused hand started to comb through his chest hair.

“Good morning, Lazy Lion. Awake at last?”

“Yes. But – not quite as lazy as you may think.”

Jaime took Brienne's hand and guided it southwards. When he wrapped her fingers around his shaft she uttered a little “oh”.

“Feel free to inspect me, wench.”

 

She didn't tear her hand away, but she was still shy. With her index finger she traced a vein. When Brienne gently cupped his balls Jaime gasped.

She flinched then and apologised.

“What for?” he asked. “That was because your touch feels so good.”

Another little “oh”.

Her hand returned, and he rolled onto his back and removed the blanket to give her better access.

 

“Mh, what do you say, wench?”

Brienne looked mesmerized.

“Your skin... feels different there. Delicate, somehow.”

“Remember how I kissed you down there? It's similar with you.”

 

She blushed.

“Would it please you... to get kissed there?”

Jaime chuckled.

“Ah, you're becoming daring, my dear. But yes, it would be fantastic. Many shieldmates do it like this.”

Brienne gazed at him, insecure. Then, however, she bowed down and placed a little kiss on his cock.

Jaime moaned. Gods! How had it ever been possible that he had thought her mouth too big? It was perfect. Especially for such an endeavour!

Again, Brienne looked up to make sure he was all right. Then, she inclined her head once more and breathed little kisses up and down his length. That triggered off another moan, and his cock twitched.

Again, Brienne paused, but she also looked increasingly intrigued. His scent and taste didn't seem to deter her at all. Quite the contrary.

Jaime's composure was slowly, but surely disintegrating, and he begged: “Would you... take me into your mouth?”

For a moment, Brienne was shocked, then confused, but finally, she nodded.

She bent down, Jaime was ready to feel her wet mouth, to moan again, and then...

 

… “OUCH!”

Brienne flinched.

“Jaime, what is it?”

“You scratched me with your teeth.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

Brienne was deeply embarrassed, so he appeased her: “Never mind, that can happen. You just have to be a bit careful when you do it. Let's try it again.”

The wench hesitated, but after a moment, she gave the project a second chance.

 

Jaime's eyes widened.

Oh. Oh FUCK! That was... oh HOLY SHIT!

Suddenly, Briennne choked and sputtered and...

“OUCH!”

 

Brienne averted herself and coughed and fingered at her mouth.

Then, she produced a wiry hair. To top it all, it wasn't even golden. It was grey. Jaime could see it clearly, despite his watering eyes, and he swore inwardly.

 

When the wench had recovered a little she stated: “I'm sorry, Jaime, but I can't do this.”

He waved his hand dismissively and replied: “Could you swing a sword the first time you picked it up? No. It's a matter of practice. Though I must confess that this kind of sparring was probably enough for today. Let me repay the kindness.”

“Can we... can we possibly do it the way we did it the other night?”

Jaime was surprised by that wish, but he couldn't say “no”. Brienne was insecure now, and she needed to repeat something she felt comfortable with, instead of trying out something new.

So Jaime sat up and leaned against the wall where he would have had a headboard in the Red Keep.

“Come here, Brienne. Sit down on my legs and put your back against my chest. I'd like to stroke you a bit first, because my cock needs to recover for a moment.”

Luckily, the wench was only too willing to oblige. Her reawakening enthusiasm was sweet.

 

Jaime felt still so clumsy with his left hand, but Brienne was thrilled by his caresses nevertheless. Luckily, she didn't notice that she was also quite havy, tall and muscled as she was.

She didn't need long to reach her peak.

By then, Jaime's cock had hardened again, and she let him enter her from behind willingly. Now that she knew what was awaiting her, she made things easier for him, and he remunerated her by being very careful once more.

 

What followed was wonderful for them both. They were more awake this time and thus livelier. It was a sweet surprise when Jaime managed to tease Brienne to another release, and her lust caused him to come as well.

 

Afterwards, they lay quiet for a moment – but not for long.

“Fuck, my bladder is really bursting now. And I don't know what you think, but I could make good use of a breakfast now.”

Brienne laughed: “Oh yes, you're right! And what else could we do today?”

Jaime had to chuckle now, too: “Oh, I think I want to be a very Lazy Lion...”

He winked and Brienne chastised him with a grin: “Has anyone ever told you that you're the epitome of cockiness?”

“You should better ask who hasn't – that list is much, much shorter.”

“Pfffft!”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been rewritten.

When they had seen to their basic needs and had donned their clothes they went down for their breakfast. The common room was nearly empty.

Like before, the food was very simple. There was some onion bread to be had; it was fresh and crisp and warm from the oven. Moreover, there was some beechnut paste served, and once again, it was surprisingly tasty. The publican also offered them a dark, hot drink.

“What's that?” Brienne asked and eyed it with much interest. “It smells good.”

“That's a roasted grain beverage, a local specialty, and the secret recipe has been handed down from my great-grandmother,” the young innkeeper answered with a proud smile.

“Is alcohol in it?” Jaime wanted to know.

“No, not at all. People think it's nice to have something warm in the belly in the morning, and many find the aroma invigorating.”

 

Brienne took a little sip – and started to smile at once.

“Oh, that's delicious! I must really say that your way of running the inn is exemplary.”

The lad bowed; his ears were red and he was beaming.

 

Jaime tried his drink now as well and liked the flavour, too.

“Mmh,” he agreed, “a fine brew. By the way – could you remove the bathtub from the room? And would it be possible to stay another night?”

“Yes, sure! There have been no new guests so far, most have even left, and as long as you can pay...”

With a little clinking sound Jaime flicked a silver stag onto the table, and the youngster thanked them enthusiastically and retreated to do his duty.

 

“Now, that's a positive, energetic fellow, if I ever saw one,” Jaime commented.

Brienne smiled: “Yes, that's true. And not nosy at all. That's good. Let's hope that the war won't come to his door.”

Jaime nodded and asked: “So what do we do now, wench? I'm not accustomed to having a day off without any courtly distractions, or a soldiers' squad around. We don't even have got any horses to tend to.”

The warrior woman bethought herself for a moment and then suggested: “I'm not good at needlework, but our clothes need to be mended, and you could try to hone our weapons, even if it might be difficult with one hand.”

“I guess it'll be hopeless, but I'll try to do my best. And perhaps we'll scrape up some dice for a game.”

“Well, that would be a beginning!”

 

After a while in companionable silence, they sauntered back into their room, which was – due to a big window – fortunately bright enough for some needlework. They only had to remove the skin that covered the opening alongside with the shutters, as there was no glass in the opening.

 

Brienne squatted herself onto the bed with a needle, some yarn and a tunic while Jaime positioned himself onto a stool near the window, laid a dagger onto his thigh and tried to hone it with his whetstone.

 

He was confused when Brienne brought up their intimacies after a while: “Our tumbles must be so boring for you...”

Jaime couldn't believe his ears.

“What!? Wench, what on earth gave you that impression?”

“Well, you've said yourself that you're... an experienced man, and I still don't have much of a clue about anything in bed. I even hurt you accidentally.”

 

Jaime sighed: “Oh Brienne, don't hide your light under a bushel. You're a sensual woman, and that's very nice. And when it comes to experience – you see, I've broken my vow of celibacy, it's true. Many times. But only ever with Cersei. So in contrast to most other men I'm not a connoisseur of the female sex.”

Brienne goggled.

“You've only ever known your s... her?”

Things were becoming difficult for Jaime now.

“Yes. She was actually the reason why I became a member of the King's Guard. When she was sold like cattle to Robert I didn't want to have to marry someone else. And I wanted to be close to her. It was clear to me that she couldn't find happiness in her wedded life.”

Brienne was both impressed and embarrassed. And perhaps there was also some... hurt, though she didn't try to show it.

“Then you must love her a lot.”

“I've loved her all my life. She's my twin. We're two sides of the same medal.”

“Oh.”

Brienne's voice was very small.

 

After a moment, she asked: “Didn't it matter to you that you had to swear a vow of celibacy, though you knew right from the beginning that you'd break it?”

Jaime looked into the distance.

“I was in love. I was desperate. So I did what I thought was necessary. Somehow, it looked as if this was the price that had to be paid, and it seemed to be fair enough. What was worse was that her marriage turned out to be a catastrophe, just like I had predicted. In his head, Robert was always bedding Lyanna Stark. No, I only focused on our love and on its exigencies. Breaking the oath of the King's Guard was neither the first nor last bad thing I did to save the relationship.”

“And what do you think was the worst?”

Brienne was very serious.

“Are you sure you want to know, wench?”

“I don't want to know, but I think I have to.”

Jaime needed a moment.   
Then he said guardedly: “Having children with Cersei should be the worst, and of late Joffrey does feel like a proof we shouldn't have done this; on the other hand, Myrcella and Tommen are wonderful children. No, the worst is that I... hurt someone innocent. Bran had seen us, and I wanted to keep the secret. Not for myself, though. I'm just an oathbreaker with shit for honour, it wouldn't have mattered, if only I had had a price to pay for this discovery, but I wanted to protect Cersei... and most of all our children.”

Brienne cocked her head: “And now you're the one who is thinking lowly of himself. For a good reason, actually. Hurting Bran is really a horrible deed. On a different note – if your s... this woman lay with you, in spite of being married, she's an oathbreaker, too.”

That stung, but Jaime was surprised, too. It was true, both he and Cersei had always known his sister was committing adultery, but they had never felt too bad about it, because Robert had been such a bloody, unfaithful bugger himself. Oathbreaking... neither of them had ever seen it from this point of view.

And Brienne wasn't done yet: “What I've been asking myself for days now, Jaime: why me? With your charms you could have had so many other women. Or since you're so very much in love you wouldn't need another woman. Why me? I cannot compete with... the Queen.”

 

Ouff. Now, he was really in the soup.

 

“You're a wonderful woman, Brienne, so much better than so many others – only you never want to see it. I've also started to realise that your friendship means a lot to me. Well, perhaps you don't want it any more, now that you know about some more of my countless horrible flaws.”

 

Brienne leaned her head against the wall and looked at him.

“It's not getting easier to like you, you know. At least, you didn't kill Bran Stark.”

Jaime closed his eyes and swallowed. He was feeling much worse than he had done then, back in Winterfell.

“I wonder whether it wouldn't have been worse for him to grow up as a cripple. To never be able to be with a woman. Well, it doesn't matter any more, now that he's dead.”

“Did you push him... with your right hand?”

“Yes, sure, I still had both hands at the time, of course.”

“I wonder, if the loss of your hand is some kind of punishment from the gods.”

Jaime showed a bitter smirk.

“It's difficult for me to believe in the concept of godly justice when around me innocent people are slaughtered by the thousands in the course of war. But perhaps I could see your goodness as a present from the gods.”

 

Brienne blushed crimson and coughed.

After a minute or two, she asked: “Do you have a bad conscience, because you've been intimate with me while you're in love with someone else?”

Fuck. There was no good answer to that. Just truth.

“As a matter of fact – I do. With regard to both of you. I wish I could be a better man.”

 

They were quiet again, mulling over their conversation.

In the end, Brienne mused: “You know – I've got a bad conscience, too. So far, life has always been clear for me. There has always been the good and the bad side, and I knew what to do to stay on the good side. But now, I sleep with a flawed man who's supposed to live abstinently; and I should wish you were a better man, but I can't – because if you were, I'd have never got to know you the way I do. My alleged goodness isn't worth so much.”

Jaime felt a pang in his heart, and he replied: “You're very good. Just perhaps not perfect. You're not a goddess, but a human. It's what makes you endearing.”

Suddenly, Brienne smiled.

“You know, Jaime, in the baths of Harrenhal, when I saw you naked, I thought you to be half a god and half a corpse. But in fact, you're human, too. It's what makes you endearing.”  
Jaime could smile then as well. Brienne's words didn't make things any less complicated, but he felt a lot warmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Lady_Blade_WarAngel and Lena_G, for pointing out a mistake. I'm very grateful for your concrit.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter has been revised and altered because of a content-related mistake.

The pensive mood lingered. Jaime thought about many things he hadn't wanted or cared to ponder before.

He remembered how he had fallen into a gardener's fork as a child when he had been been playing catch with Cersei, and hadn't looked at the way ahead of them; how the poor servant had been flogged by his father personally until the man had been almost dead and how they had been made to watch so that they'd learn to think of the consequences of their doings. How little it had helped. And when the bandage had been removed from Jaime's leg and Cersei had seen the fresh scar she had just frowned in distaste and had looked away.

True, his sister had been a child – but actually, she hadn't really changed since then. Cersei had never wanted to hear the stories behind his scars.

Brienne was different. He and the wench had quite a few things in common, actually. They could be comrades. Perhaps this was so because the she had tried to discard her femininity for so long and because she had done so many manly things.

But she WAS a woman. And what a woman! Jaime had only had a foretaste, but even that had been delicious. And yet, they could be friends like soldiers during a military campaign.

It was impossible to be Cersei's comrade. You could be her lover and her brother, but not really a friend. And what would she say to the stump of his hand? Would she turn away from him like she had done on seeing the scar on his leg? He had already started to fear this before, but the more Jaime thought about it, the more he was convinced that that would be her exact reaction.

 

He felt like shit.

To him, it hadn't mattered when Cersei hadn't been in good shape before and after giving birth to their children, and he wouldn't be deterred, if she got blemished in an accident or otherwise, of that he was convinced. He guessed that Brienne was teaching him a good lesson in that respect: she didn't mind that he only had one hand, and he didn't care any more that she wasn't an ideal beauty.

Though... in a certain place she was one...

Jaime smacked his lips – and felt a pang of bad conscience at once.

He knew why he had offered her to become her shieldmate, and he had known from the beginning that he wasn't the right man for her. That she deserved better. But knowing something theoretically and actually being involved in this kind of relationship was a different matter.

 

He thought of other shieldmates and wondered whether male couples had similar problems or not. It was a topic he had never delved into.

Well, there was one thing that made his and Brienne's relationship decidedly more complicated in comparison: the possibility of having a child. So far, he had only taken her from behind, so there had been little risk, but he found he wanted to teach her some more, if she'd let him. He wanted to see her blue eyes when she came around him. He wanted to see... her happiness. Even if he couldn't make her truly happy. He yearned to have at least those moments with her.

Jaime had already told her that he'd take care of any child he might sire, and he realised that for once he'd keep his word. To his own surprise he had to admit to himself that he even wanted to be forced to show he could be as good as his word.

But that was rubbish! First of all, they were simply friends, he and Brienne. And second, there were other possible situations where he could prove his sincerity. A baby would only peg her as a loose woman, and he couldn't allow that to happen.

 

Jaime knew that her sister was taking moon tea, but Tommen was the living proof that it didn't always work – besides, Jaime had no clue of how to come by the necessary herbs here at the back of beyond.  
Jaime looked at Brienne. She was completely immersed into mending the tunic, and her crooked stitches were vivid proof of her not being a refined lady. But she was natural. It felt good this way. 

 

Jaime still hadn't come to a conclusion when they went down for lunch. They had donated their beets to the publican and had traded them for a snare so that they could hunt rabbits and other little animals once they'd be back on the road.

And now, they were rewarded with a rich vegetable stew.

“The best thing that could happen to these beets, wench,” Jaime commented while ladling the food into his mouth.

 

Brienne smiled and agreed: “Yes,it's really tasty. This diet will help you to regain your strength.”

“Yes, I feel so, too. It wouldn't have all become so difficult, if that blasted wolf pack hadn't killed off our men and horses in the Riverlands.”

“They were not “our men”; they were from Harrenhal,” the wench objected politely.

“True enough, but it would still have been more comfortable a voyage. Though less sensual.”

Jaime smirked, causing Brienne to blush and to distract him from the lewd implications: “I've been thinking about this wolf attack back in our room.”

“You saved my life by pulling me up into that tree, Brienne – I'll always be grateful for that.”

She blushed even more and made a dismissive gesture.

“What I want to get at is that this huge direwolf bitch could have reached us and pulled as down, in contrast to her pack members.”

“It still gives me the creeps how the biggest male nearly caught my foot.”

Brienne nodded and went on: “It was a real feast for the wolves – but normally, wolves don't attack humans just like that. Only when they're really angry or very hungry, like in mid-winter.”

Jaime stated in a sombre voice: “The direwolf, Nymeria – it was her doing. And she remembered me when she spotted us in the tree. I could see it in her eyes. The way she looked up at us... What I don't get is that she should have had all the more reason to kill me then, given what I've done to the Starks.”

“I'm not sure, but I think... I think she's left her pack and she's following us. An extremely intelligent animal, by the look of it. I think she feels we might be worth more alive. Perhaps she believes we might lead her to her little mistress. And it could even be true.”

Jaime snorted and growled: “I'll never sleep in peace again until we're back in the Red Keep. And then, I won't sleep in peace, because I AM in the Red Keep. “Fantastic” prospects. Can we please have a tumble every day so that I'll at least die a sated man?”

Brienne curled her lip, partly in disgust and anger, partly in sarcastic amusement, a kind of humour she seemed to be slowly picking up from Jaime.

“Good ser, you're an absolutely insolent representative of your sex.”

“Oh, that runs in the family, only with different points of interest. Once you get to know Tyrion and my Lord Father you'll know what I mean.”

“You think it would be a good idea to get to know them?”

From one moment to the next, Jaime became insecure.

“Uuuh... my brother... perhaps. Though afterwards, he'd made me suffer every day with his comments, but I'm accustomed to that.”

“Which kind of comments? About my looks?”

“No. He'd be the last one to make nasty comments about that. It would be about my... emotional disposition.”

“My sympathy is limited, I must say.”

“Flinty wench.”

 

And suddenly, they were both laughing again. Like real friends.


	16. Chapter 16

A bit later, there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Brienne answered.

The voice of Joss, the publican, became audible.

“Excuse me,” he called.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and the young man entered.

“What is it?” Jaime asked.

“I wanted to ask, if you'd be willing to help me catch some fish in a nearby little river. There's a weir there, and it's all completely legal. My late father got the privilege to catch fish from the local lord many years ago.”

Jaime smacked his lips.

“Fish, you say? Well, that sounds very promising, doesn't it wench? Which sorts to you have here?”

“Oh, many. My specialties are trout, Riverland perches, carps, eels, and we've also some delicious crayfish here.”

Jaime wanted to weep in happiness, and he stated: “To my ears that sounds as if you could revive a dead man with your wonderful aromas. I guess I won't be much of a help with my stump, but I'm certainly willing to lend you the one I've left. What about you, wench?”

“Count me in.”

 

An hour later, Jaime slipped on a wet stone on the riverbank and landed head over heels in the river water. Luckily, he wasn't carried away by the stream, but when he stood up again, he was muddy all over, and tangles or the gods knew which kinds of weed were clinging to him, even in his short hair.

 

He was swearing in a way that even the Hound down in King's Landing would have blushed. Brienne erupted with laughter.

“Thanks for your compassion. Dearest wife,” he shot back.

 

Joss tried to mitigate the situation: “Ah, that has happened to me before as well. The underground is treacherous here.”

Jaime, who still wanted to repay Brienne for her reaction, went on: “If we weren't here to help you with the fish I'd throw her in, too. Well, she'll certainly have a clean husband tonight. But with dirty thoughts, there's no cure for that.”

The young innkeeper blushed, and Jaime wondered, if the youngster was probably still a virgin.

“Calen, DEAREST, will you stop exposing our host to such embarrassing talk? You may have the sensitivity of a block of wood, but this isn't true for everyone else, you know?” Brienne shot back.

Young Joss flushed crimson, sandwiched as he was between the alleged “spouses”.

 

Still dripping, Jaime was finally willing to be merciful and changed the topic: “This man here isn't only sensitive, but also very capable. Joss, I must confess I'm surprised that a young man like you has already got his own inn. How long have you run it?”

The publican was willing to inform them, though he became very serious: “It has been six moons since my father died. My last living relative. He was in town, on a market, but on the way back he was killed by some random mercenaries that were roaming the streets.”

“What a tragedy,” Brienne said sadly.

Joss nodded.

“Yes, indeed. And I can only afford to employ the cook and the old washerwoman any more. These are difficult times. But let's talk of some more positive things. How long have you two been married?”

Jaime coughed, laughed and jested: “When my wife is in one of her moods it feels like ages.”

“YOU! One more word, and you can pull the fish baskets out of the water alone.”

Jaime winked and commented: “See what I mean?”

Joss sighed and answered: “I hope that one day I'll find a woman that I can love like you do yours, Calen. And one who'd love me back like Nyma does you.”

Suddenly, there was a long moment's silence.

 

Jaime coughed again.

He looked at Brienne and she looked back.

“Whoa, I've swallowed some sand from the riverbank. Disgusting. Let me rinse my mouth, and let's get the fish out of the water.”

“All right, Calen, it's getting late.”

Poor boy, this Joss, Jaime felt. The lad didn't have a clue about the intricacies of friendship fucks and love. And since he and Brienne had to play their roles as spouses he wouldn't be the one to enlighten the publican. Ah, but there were some things a man had to find out for himself anyway.

 

When he approached the fish baskets Jaime suddenly heard a sound that was different from the normal rustle of the reed. Perhaps it was just his vivid imagination, but he could have sworn that a pair of yellow eyes had been looking at him for a moment.

A shiver crept down his spine.


	17. Chapter 17

Later that day, Jaime enjoyed their food mightily and he was sorry they'd leave the next day, but at the same time, he also wanted to get back to King's Landing. Ah, well, for the time being, there was certainly no harm in enjoying the fish all the more: there was a soup as well as fried fish to be had, and Joss had made some dumplings from rests of old bread. What would have been a humble snack in the capital was a feast here.

 

Down in the common room, they came across the merchant named Finyan again. The elderly man was drinking his ale and greeted them with his tankard as soon as he noticed them. Now, Jaime was thinking about options: on the one hand, he didn't want to have to act out a role again, and neither did he want to have any more contacts in the Riverlands than was absolutely necessary – but if this Finyan really traded goods perhaps he had a few objects they could use for their future voyage. Coin wasn't the problem, but in their haste to leave the site where the wolf pack had slaughtered the rest of their travelling party they had forgotten to take along many tools... apart from the fact that Jaime had been still a bit weaker than he was now, after Joss's nourishing diet and some rest.

 

And with regard to the topic “wolf” – Jaime hoped that the huge bitch understood the concept of a present (or rather bribery), because he had left a big fish behind for her on the riverbank. Yet, he didn't want to think of this possible danger all the time; it didn't help his mental sanity to try to cross bridges before they had been built.

 

“This fish is really worth all the trouble,” Brienne disturbed his thoughts with a smile.

“Indeed wench, indeed. If I weren't sure Joss is happy here I'd try to hire him for the Red Keep. Or as the personal family cook.”

Brienne cocked her head.

“Perhaps there is something you can do for him. Give his establishment the status of a royal inn.”

Jaime sighed: “That would depend a lot on the king on the throne and his customers' attitude towards that respective monarch and could backfire. But I know what you mean. Perhaps a tax remission would be of help for him, or something less official that would further his inn. Well, first of all, we've got to get back to the capital, else all our ideas will be futile. I've just been thinking whether we should contact this Finyan over there and find out, if he can sell us some handy tools for our next stages of the trip.”

Brienne smiled and showed her tooth space.

“Good idea. We could need an extra water skin, a snare, a fishing rod, and a little tent would top it all. Sure, it would get heavy without a pack animal, but you're getting stronger by the day.”

 

Jaime, who liked the concept of becoming useful and less of a burden a lot, was all ablaze with enthusiasm and approached the man. Half an hour later, Jaime had weaselled off a snare and an old, rather moth-eaten tent of the merchant at a decent prize – and Joss, who had noticed what they had been discussing, had been able to help out with a water skin and a fishing rod.

Sure, it would have been even nicer to obtain a mule and some extra food for the way, but both was too scarce here in the region to spare. Even so, Jaime and Brienne were in a good mood when they finally headed for their room. It had become quite late, because one customer had produced a flute, someone else had used a pot as a drum, Joss had clicked two metal spoons together in a rhythm, and suddenly, they had all been singing merry songs. Many of them had been smutty as well, and while Brienne had blushed then Jaime had bawled along happily with the others. As a soldier, he had always preferred this simple music to the frilly tunes at court – though he did enjoy a nice dance once in a while.

For a moment, he wondered if he could still dance with one hand, but then, he imagined Brienne grabbing his middle and hurling him around in a wild Polka, and he chuckled to himself. Now, that would be something rustic Cersei would never do with him. Suddenly, a Polka with Brienne was on his mental to-do list.

 

While they were opening their chamber door, he was still whistling “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” and felt very inspired by the song. Brienne turned around and gave him a little smack on the chest.

“Being a buck again?” she admonished him, but it was only half serious.

“Ah,” Jaime answered, smirked and held up his left index finger as if to make a point, “not a buck. I bear tonight.”

Next, he laughed, pulled her in, threw the door shut and pushed the wench onto the bed.

And then, they were giggling and chortling and grabbing at each other, fumbling on tunics and the lacings of their trousers, tearing off each other's clothes as fast as possible.

 

Jaime was surprised by Brienne's daring fingers and by her relaxed cheerfulness; it only helped to spark off his passion.

“No lion? Didn't know you for a Mormont,” Brienne jested.

To cut her off, Jaime quickly silenced her with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: smut. Well, smut problems, rather. The chapter has already been typed, but I still need to revise it. :-)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the weekend I had a conversation with a friend about how the modern media always try to convey that you have to have a perfect, sexy body, and that you have to be competent in every area of life, that if you're not working on becoming a perfect lover, or interested in trying out all sorts of sex techniques you're considered dull. I feel the talk permeated the chapter in the way you'll see. Hopefully, you'll like the take on J/B's attitudes and the way they deal with their problems.

Suddenly, they were both confused; apart from a few friendly pecks they hadn't kissed really intensively before. Kisses were not overly common amongst shieldmates, as far as Jaime knew – perhaps because they didn't reflect so much the primal needs, but rather romance. Thus he slowly, carefully withdrew, trying not to let it look like fleeing the battlefield, so to speak.

Brienne looked at him with her blue eyes, and Jaime thought he had to be careful not to make things between them unnecessarily complicated. On the one hand, he loved Cersei, and on the other hand, he valued the wench's friendship too much; he didn't want to risk either.

So he redirected his mouth towards one of Brienne's little breasts annd let his lips work their seductive magic there, rather than further up. Ah, her happy sigh told him that the wench didn't object to getting caressed there. That was good.

The wench even arched into his mouth and gasped when he circled first one, then a second nipple.

Fuck, that was so very good!

 

After a while, Brienne was obviously reaching the decision that she wanted to turn the tables and to repay him, which entailed her kissing his chest. Her touches wandered down his torso. Finally, her lips reached his cock and hesitated, until he quivered a little from pure need. Then, she dared to kiss him there, and to lick and to nibble up and down his length. It wasn't the full programme, but after their initial problems in that field she needed time to regain some confidence... and what Jaime got was already maddening by all means, causing him to moan more than once.

 

After a while, Brienne moved up again, and they embraced. With his good – though clumsy – hand Jaime tested whether the wench was already wet for him and found out that though the rest of her large body seemed to be on fire things could still be optimized in that specific spot. Avidly, he set to work, and after a while he got the desired results.

The next step was to rub himself against her.

“Willing to try out something new, Brienne?” he asked her.

“Show me,” was the wench's only answer, and even if she flushed red and looked a bit embarrassed, she sounded adventurous enough.

 

So he rolled her onto the back, positioned himself at her front entrance and pushed tentatively.

“Ouch! What are you doing there, Jaime?”

Damn.

After the naughty things they had already done, all the riding of horses and her countless fighting sessions in the past he had assumed things would go smoothly now.

“Um. That's your maidenhood.”

Brienne looked shocked.

“My WHAT!? But I'm not a maid any more. I mean... I mean... I've lain with you.”

Jaime cursed silently.

“That's true, but we did it in a way that didn't tear your maidenhood.”

Brienne didn't get it: “You mean... I'm still a maid without being a maid?”

“Errr... perhaps one could say it like that.”

Her head fell back onto the pillow, huffing a sound of frustrated laughter.

“I feel stupid now, Jaime.”

“Don't do that.”

“Uh, no wonder then it didn't really hurt so far. Well, let's get it over with then. Or isn't it true that it only hurts the first time either?”

“For some women, it doesn't hurt at all, for some there is a little pain, and others have to endure a bit the first time. And sometimes, I've heard that a woman is still sensitive during the first couple of fucks, but the first time is the one where it's most common to hurt a bit more. Let me have a look at you, Brienne.”

“All right.”

Blushing fiercely, she spread her legs, and Jaime had a look at her wet, already swollen folds.

Yes, there was her maidenhood, and no mistake.

“Looks rather – eh – substantial, though I can't really compare. Damn, I don't want to hurt you. If you want we can do it again like we've done it before.”

Brienne didn't look so very enthusiastic any more, but she lifted her chin defiantly.

“Jaime, if I shied away from a bit of pain I'd have never started to fight with a sword.”

He sighed, nodded and set to work again.

 

Five minutes later, after some ineffective raking, they both gave up in frustration. Brienne was very sensitive and feeling pain as soon as he really tried to enter her, and he himself had softened to a degree that carrying out the deed had become impossible.

When Jaime had been a youngster and had bedded Cersei for the first time he had been so clueless and passionate and horny – and Cersei had been the same – that they had simply stormed ahead and plunged themselves into lust without thinking. Now, however, things were oddly different. Jaime felt self-conscious; at the same time, he was thinking about Brienne's pleasure all the time, and the idea of hurting her hampered him to a degree he wouldn't have thought possible for a man like him.

 

Brienne started to sniffle: “I'm sorry! Gods, I'm no real woman. Too weird and too incompetent.”

“Stop saying something so stupid. I'm sure you're not the first woman with this problem, and I'm not the first man who fails the woman in the process.”

“You're NOT failing me! You've tried to be so careful with me.”

Brienne put her cheek on his chest and kissed his skin.

 

After a pause, Jaime suggested: “Do you know what we'll do for the next days? Some cuddling, some sort of intimacy we already know and that has been good, and once in a while we'll try to widen you bit by bit. We'll do it gently. No need to panic. And if the problem continues we'll talk to a maester. I tell you again: this has happened to others before. For the time being we'll concentrate on what works, and don't forget: we have already found out that we can have lots of fun together, and by the gods, I've seen more than enough of your femininity to assure you that you're a wonderful woman.”

 

It was clear that Brienne was still insecure, but when Jaime hugged her close she was obviously grateful for it. Jaime couldn't help himself and kissed her again to console her.

 

After a while, he took her hand, placed it between her legs and showed her around, so to speak.

“Does it still hurt, wench?”

“Getting better.”

“Good. See, that's you. If that isn't feminine I know nothing. The next time, you should touch yourself, I'd say. You know best how far you can go and how much you can take, or what feels probably even good. And later, we can bring my body into the game again.”

Brienne began: “Did you ever...?”

She stopped short. Embarrassed, she put her hand onto her mouth.

“You mean – if I've have experienced similar experiences with... her? Well, not these specific ones, but others. That's why I keep telling you: sooner or later, anyone will face something in bed that's less than perfect. The worst you can do then is to listen to other people bragging about their alleged perfection as a lover, or to stress yourself, or to give in, because you're too afraid to accept help.”

Those words caused Brienne to press herself even closer to Jaime, and they rubbed their noses together. Jaime was surprised. He knew how differently Cersei would have reacted. She'd have challenged him, or reproached him, or generally freaked out in angry frustration. He could still remember her temporary problems with regard to passion after she had given birth.

In contrast to that, Brienne was so willing to accept his words! And he could still hold her and be close to her. She didn't rebuff him or recoil from him. Quite the contrary: somehow, they ended up caressing every single inch of each other's bodies, because their need for intimacy of some kind was still smouldering within them. Once again, Jaime asked himself how it was possible he had suddenly become so tender a lover.

 

It took them an hour or two, but finally, passion flared up again, much to their surprise; and then, they lay together like they had done before and enjoyed it greatly. It showed them that though not everything had been going smoothly before there were fields where there were getting really good. Brienne's joyful moans actually told Jaime that she had recovered enough to feel lust again, and with some more stimulation she even managed to peak.

It was then that Brienne really understood the truth in his words, as Jaime could glean from her looks and her behaviour: yes, she was woman enough, and yes, they could do so many things already – deliciously naughty and satisfying things. For that reason, Brienne was smiling contentedly when she fell asleep, and Jaime felt all warm and fuzzy and was grinning like the happiest of all fools.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the new chapter. I've been a little stuck lately. I've also been thinking about a possible ending. By the look of it, it won't be a big bang, but since this has been a more psychological story so far anyway it might be appropriate. I hope so.

The next day, they had to leave the inn. As nice as their accommodation was – they still had to reach King's Landing. So the next morning saw them packing their things.

 

“With this fishing rod and the snare we should be able to catch some food along the way, so we won't go hungry, wench.”

“We'll have to ask Joss, if he can sell us an extra skin of ale. It'll go stale along the way, but at least it'll be nourishing.”

Jaime nodded hesitantly.

“Our dear host can't sell us much extra food, only some bread, I guess, so probably it's not a bad idea.”

 

Together, they made for the common room and ordered their last breakfast before their departure.

Young Joss greeted them with a smile.

“Nyma, Calen, good morning. Are you going to leave today?”

Brienne answered in the affirmative.

“I see. Let's serve you a really good breakfast then. A local beekeeper has just arrived, and I could buy a bit of honey from him, so I can offer you same flat cake with a honey filling.”

Jaime smacked his lips and couldn't wait to sink his teeth into the food.

When the plates were put in front of them, alongside with the hot brew they had got to know the other day, Jaime produced his pouch and paid the publican duly for the flawless service they had been offered.

 

Half an hour later, they had finished and shouldered their belongings. They said goodbye to their friendly innkeeper and left. Luckily, the weather was fair enough, and they could hope for another inn two days from thence, because Joss had described them the way.

 

“I hope that this place will remain untouched from the war,” Brienne mused, and Jaime agreed wholeheartedly.

Because of their break and the healthy nourishment he was feeling much better than he had done before and was grateful and in a good mood. Off they walked and followed a little path they had been told about.

 

For a while, they were silent, but it was an agreeable silence now, in contrast to their initial weeks together when they had still been hostile. Enemies had become friends. If only the rest of Westeros could experience the same.

 

After an hour or two, Brienne asked: “Do you miss Casterly Rock?”

Jaime bethought himself: “Depends. I miss the landscape. The castle on the hill, the view over the sea... Lannisport is a nice town as well. More orderly than King's Landing, you know? What I don't miss is the sour atmosphere. My father is a cold, hard, formal man, and his presence influences the places where he resides.”

Brienne was thoughtful and answered: “I miss Tarth and the seaside there as well; but I cannot imagine what it must be like around your father. Mine is different. Do you... love your father?”

Jaime breathed in and out deeply. What should he say to that question?

“As a child I did. But when my mother died he lost the ability to love. With time, your own love cools down then as well in such a situation. Moreover, I've seen his cruelty. Towards Tyrion. Towards whoever doesn't fit exactly into his mould. No, I don't think there's any love left.”

Brienne looked very sad.

“But you love your little brother, don't you?”

Jaime nodded vigorously then and replied: “Oh yes! He's intelligent and humorous, and he can even be brave and strong in his own way. Maybe, he cannot swing a sword like I could because of his physical handicap, but he handles himself admirably. He's a survivor. Tyrion would make a fine lord at the Rock.”

Brienne smiled at him then, and Jaime felt happy.

 

Around lunchtime, they rested at a tiny trickle of a stream and sat down in the green grass. Jaime, having cast his bundle down next to him, leaned against a tree trunk and wiggled his tired toes for a moment.

“Will you come over to me, wench?” he asked.

Brienne had been rummaging in her bag and was producing the beer skin.

“Sure. Here, something to drink for us.”

She sat down between his legs, leaned her back against his chest and uncorked the skin.

Jaime smirked: no – the wench was no light, slender grace, but rather heavy. He didn't mind, though. Somehow, it was nice that she was so physical, even if breathing was a fraction more difficult for him under these circumstances.

Peacefully, they passed the beer back and forth, and when he wasn't drinking himself, he caressed the freckled nape of her neck with nose and lips and teeth.

“Jaime, you're a hopeless lecher, do you know that?” Brienne teased him, and he admitted freely: “Guilty of charge. And this lecher has got some more ideas of passing the break. Ideas that include hands and mouths on certain body parts. Simultaneously.”

Brienne blushed: “You mean... we both... at the same time?”

“Yes.”

“But... aren't you afraid I might accidentally bite you again?”

“In my humble opinion, you're already getting much better, so why not try out the next level?”

“Humble? You of all people, Jaime?”

 

They both laughed, scrambled in the green grass, loosened each other's tunics and laces and set to work. Their sounds of levity ebbed away and were replaced by wetter ones... and by gasps and stifled moans that became more needy by the minute.

Jaime loved every moment. To tease Brienne between her legs while he was getting served himself and to feel and to increase each other's arousal was nearly to good to be true. And the wench WAS getting more and more daring and curious and skilled. However, he was doing his best as well.

 

In the end, Brienne came first, let go of his cock just in time so as not to bite him and bucked into his mouth, moaning loudly. Jaime was rhapsodic and licked and sucked on and on, to help Brienne ride out her climax; what he had not expected was that his ongoing stimulation would cause her to peak right again a second time, and even more forcefully. The experience, her blissful moans, her quivering flesh – it all was so incredibly good that it sent him over the edge as well.

Flushed and panting they lay there. Jaime caught his breath first, chuckled, slapped Brienne's thigh good-naturedly, laughed and commented: “Right, that was something after my taste – or rather YOU were, wench. And now, let's have a snack – and afterwards I'll need a piss before we walk on.”

“Will you stop being so outrageous in your wording, Jaime?”

“Why, if you like me being outrageous non-verbally?”

“YOU!”

Brienne gave him a little smack then.

 

They sat up, still chortling. Next, they looked at their luggage where the food was... and behind the bundles right into the watchful, yellow eyes of a huge direwolf, little more than five steps away from them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that I haven't updated in a while. The crack!fic tone of my other WiP has seeped into this chapter, can't help it...
> 
>  
> 
> Warning for crudeness -> If you want, you can skip the passage in italics.

Jaime's mouth had always been ahead of his brain, especially under stress, so it wasn't a surprise that in his shock he quipped at the big animal: “Didn't take you for a Peeping Tom. Was it fun to watch us?”

“Jaime, will you behave!?” Brienne squeaked at his side.

Normally, the wench would have been able to meet the wolf with her weapon, but that oh so important tool was two strides away. Their lovemaking had sheered them away from it. Fuck. There was basically no chance to escape the bitch's fangs.

Jaime had never been afraid of dying in battle, had laughed the Stranger in his face... but after having seen how the other wolves had made short work of their travelling party he couldn't help but send a brief, apologetic prayer to whatever god was still willing to listen to him, eminent sinner that he was.

 

Nymeria came slowly closer. Jaime and Brienne were both paralysed and their eyes wide open. Moments later, the direwolf was standing face to face with Jaime – or rather towering above him, because he had not managed to stand up. Next, she bared her sharp teeth and uttered the faintest growl, deep down in her throat. The smell of her fur was reaching him now as well: the wildlife variant of a damp dog's stench.

So fearsome was the beast in front of him that Jaime couldn't help himself... he lost control over his bladder. For a split second it occurred to him that it was good he hadn't laced his breeches properly yet, so at least he'd not die as a man who was peeing his pants.

Nymeria growled again.

 

And then, her face twisted awkwardly... and she sneezed right into Jaime's face.

Little droplets hit his skin, and he felt really sick now.

“Had I not known you to have been Arya's pet I'd do so now. You've got the rude behaviour of your mistress,” Jaime couldn't help but stammer and wanted to slap himself in the face for his stupidity and his acid tongue.

“JAIME!” Brienne moaned.

 

_Nymeria snorted in what sounded like contempt for the Kingslayer, and another droplet hit him. Then, she turned around, showed him her backsaide, made a step, eyed Brienne and..._

_...pffffft..._

_A cloud of wolfish methane gas hit Jaime's face. And though he knew from Tommen's fascinations for cats that little kittens could produce remarkable smells – it was nothing in comparison to the evaporations coming from a direwolf's butt and a digestion based on game that had been hunted down in the wilderness._

_Jaime started to retch and croaked: “You're doing that on purpose, you monster! Toying with your next snack, is that it? Hey, hey, don't you dare kill my wench, understood!? Take me instead. I'm tastier. Just a bit smelly at the moment.”_

 

His words were futile, and he knew that, but what could he do?

Nymeria, however, didn't even move an ear towards him; instead, she lowered her muzzle towards Brienne's face. Despite the wench's normal bravery there was a little whimper in her throat. Jaime couldn't hold against her as his reaction hadn't been any more dignified; actually, it had been worse.

 

And then, the big direwolf licked Brienne's face. Crosswise.

The wench squealed.

“Jaime!”

“Let go of my wom...” Jaime started – and stopped dead the next moment.

For the bitch was suddenly wagging her tail happily.

Did Direwolves wag their tails? Jaime had no idea. And if they did – did it mean the same? Then again, the animal had grown up and had been socialized at Winterfell and might have picked up some behaviour from the dogs that had lived there.

 

Tentatively, Jaime asked: “You like Brienne? Well, I can imagine you don't like me, but how come you... ? Is it because Brienne is like Arya, just bigger and older and fair-haired? Or are you like Renly and Loras? Oh, you don't know them. I mean – do you prefer bitches? No offence meant, Brienne.”

“Stop spouting such rubbish,” Brienne quacked, still half terrified, but also partly angry and partly hopeful.

 

Nymeria continued to wash the wench's face and to wag her tail. Next, she lowered herself onto the warrior woman's legs and lay down as if she believed she were a tiny little lapdog.

“What... what...?”

Brienne was incapable of talking coherently.

 

Realizing that they didn't seem to be in imminent danger, Jaime allowed himself to relax and stated: “She likes you indeed, wench. Thank the Seven. You sure you don't have any Stark blood within you? Perhaps from a seventh-grade bastard cousin?”

“JAIME!”

“Sorry wench. Just asking. This situation is too bizarre to be true. If anyone told me such a story in the Red Keep I'd sputter the contents of my wine goblet in his or her face.”  
“Just. Close. Your. Mouth. PLEASE!”

“Uh... yes. Yes. I think... I think I'll stand up and go wash myself and leave you two in peace. Is that all right, wolf?”

Another animal snort was the answer. Jaime took it as a “yes.”

“Good, good. And don't you think of eating my wom... shieldmate while I'm away, Nymeria.”

The direwolf turned her head then, and her look gave Jaime the distinct feeling that he was a) the greatest oaf and b) the most pathetic sod in Westeros.

While gathering up his breeches clumsily with his left hand and making for the nearby stream he couldn't help but think that Nymeria was probably very correct in her assessment of him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did I get inspired for this chapter? You may want to look here: http://princess-passion-flower.tumblr.com/post/91564635466/thecutestofthecute-big-dogs-who-think-they-are .


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been rather busy these days. Finally another chapter for this fic. :-)

What came next was very weird, to put it mildly.

After their break, they resumed their march – and Nymeria stayed right at Brienne's side all the time, looking up at the tall woman with adoring eyes, tongue lolling out of her muzzle and only content when the wench was ruffling her fur.

Jaime was mostly ignored by Nymeria. And a few times snarled at.

So he stomped silently after the two females and felt excluded. And... jealous, somehow. Though he had no clue why he should be jealous about his shieldmate passing some time with an out-sized half-pet.

 

Only towards the evening did the direwolf leave Brienne's side and disappeared, seemingly with the intent to go hunting.

It was obviously a sign for the wench to put up camp. The moth-eaten tent truly needed to be mended, but that could happen on another day. Jaime told himself that at least he and Brienne would have a shelter for two.

His shieldmate seemed to have recovered from the shock and to be in a surprisingly good mood now.

“Have you seen her?” she asked, referring to the wolf-bitch. “She seems to be in need of love. A really cute one, once you've got accustomed to her size.”

Annoyed, Jaime answered: “And what about my need of l...ust? Nymeria is nearly besieging you with her presence and not even giving me a chance to talk to you properly.”

Brienne blew a strand of hair out of her face and shrugged off his complaint: “If I remember correctly, dearest shieldmate, we did enjoy some lusty encounter earlier on. And I'm sure Nymeria will accept you in the future. You just have to be nice to her and to wait a little.”

“I'm no expert at being nice,” Jaime growled.

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Brienne answered airily.

It only served to make Jaime even angrier.

“I want to be nice to YOU now,” he demanded darkly.

The wench gazed at him then – and grinned.

“You look like a pouting child, do you know that?”

That stung.

“Let me between you legs and I'll stop pouting at once.”

His words caused Brienne to frown.

“Honestly, Jaime – I think you should train your left hand now. I'm pretty sure I don't want to be bedded by a grouchy lion. However, at the same time I'm pretty sure I do have some other needs to see to in the bushes.”

And with those words, she turned around and left him standing like a drowned rat.

 

This...

This couldn't...

She couldn't say NO to him.

Or could she?

And how the fuck was it possible that he suddenly felt as if he had a wooden splinter in his core?

 

When Brienne came back Jaime walked right up to her and stared her in her sapphire blue eyes. On the inside, he was furious, but when he leaned forward and kissed Brienne he simply put his lips on hers, without force and without touching her otherwise. He kept looking at her, daring the wench to avert her face from him.

Brienne was a little confused, but neither broke the eye nor the mouth contact.

Slowly, Jaime started to intensify the kiss – and continued his stare down. Or rather up. It would have been easy for the wench to end it all, but stubborn as she was she wasn't willing to give in.

They both started to show first signs of arousal – widening pupils, deepened breathing.

For Jaime, it wasn't enough. Far from it. His tongue worked his way into her mouth.

And then, it happened: some quick movements, and suddenly, Jaime was pinned against a tree trunk, and it was as if Brienne wanted to eat him alive. Well, he was just as hungry, for that matter. Their tongues duelled like their swords had done, back when he had still had his right hand.

 

They were fumbling on each other's clothes greedily...

… when suddenly, Jaime noticed a weird grinding sound behind them.

He broke the kiss, turned, looked – and his eyes went wide in surprise.

“What is it?” Brienne asked breathlessly and looked around as well.

 

Nymeria was back. And she was dragging a massive dead stag with huge antlers after her. She let the game drop at Jaime's feet and looked up at him with the wolfish equivalent to a snort. Jaime remembered the fish he had left behind for her as a present and realized that the huge, furred animal found him truly pathetic.

Damn.

 

What was worse: Brienne reacted with exultation.

“Whoa, Nymeria, you managed to bring down this stag all on your own? What a perfect hunter you are!”

On hearing that, the wolf-bitch was as proud as fuck. Jaime had seen cats showing their humans the mice they had caught. Well, this was a completely new level, and it irked him no end.

Strangely, in contrast to normal cats and dogs, Nymeria was willing to share her prey. With Brienne anyway... and in an obviously patronizing way even with Jaime.

That evening, they didn't have to go hungry; but Jaime couldn't find any taste in their dinner, no matter what he tried to tell himself.

Later, Nymeria lay down at the fire they had built, her head on her paws, and looked as if she meant to sleep there. In that case, they didn't need a night vigil; the animal's instincts would be good enough. So Jaime and Brienne both sneaked into their scabby tent. The problem was that under these circumstances, with the direwolf nearby, Jaime was in no mood for fucking.

The wench didn't press the matter and simply leaned her face against his chest. Slowly, the fingers of his remaining hand combed through her short hair, and Brienne sighed, serene and tired. A wave of tender feelings washed over Jaime. He wished intensely he could offer her more than a ragged tent and a few friendship fucks, but at the same time he knew that more was impossible. Joffrey was waiting for him, himself being a sworn member of the King's Guard. Cersei was waiting for him. Once they had sent Sansa on her way with Brienne his own part in the pact was over: he'd have to stay in the capital, or would be sent away on some royal errand, and Brienne would be the one who would be searching for Arya.

Maybe, it was good that Nymeria had turned up, because she'd make a fine guardian for the wench. And once Brienne had taken her leave from the capital perhaps he'd never see her again in his life.

Suddenly, Jaime felt as if he were put into fetters again, as if there was an iron ring around his chest, and he hugged Brienne closer. To give her up would hurt. A lot. It was an insight he despised, but there he was.  
Until then, however, he'd try to make his wench as happy as possible, he swore to himself. For example during the following night, when they'd have a room in an inn again, if Joss from the “Plucked Hen” had been correct. Jaime still wanted to show his wench some sweet things about fucking, if he could manage to take her maidenhood without causing her too much pain.

 

And when the time finally came, he'd have to be a decent shieldmate, no matter what it might cost him, and would have to part from Brienne in a way that wouldn't break her heart. If only he knew how to do that...


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some problems with this chapter, and I still think the language is crappy, but I've got the feeling I need to go on, or I'd get stuck forever. :-/

At night, Jaime awoke, and sadly enough, it was from another wave of phantom pain. He tried to hide it at first and gnashed his teeth in the effort, but it was as if someone was cauterizing his wound again. It burned so badly that he couldn't suppress a howl.

A moment later, he noticed a direwolf's muzzle at the entrance of the tent, as well as Brienne's worried voice at his side: “Gods! Is it your phantom hand again?”

He could only nod and groan as the pain started to swell inside of him again.

“Can I do something for you, Jaime?” Brienne asked.

“Can you knock me unconscious, wench?” he gasped... and squealed next.

Damn, he was just entering the first one of the seven hells as it seemed.

What made it worse was that he could sense Brienne's anguish about his situation.

She spoke: “When we're in the next inn we need to find someone who can treat you.”

The pain made Jaime short-tempered, and he snapped: “Pfft! You think the rural inn at the back of behind will abound with expert maesters from Oldtown, is that the way of it? – Aaaaaargh!”

“Of course not, Jaime, but perhaps they've got a wise woman or someone the like.”

“Don't know. Don't care. Aieeee!”

 

By then, the pain was so bad that tears and snot were streaming unbidden down his cheeks. Nobody who would have seen him at that moment would have recognized him as the handsome, arrogant Lannister lion from the King's Guard.

Brienne's strong arms went around him and crushed him to her chest.

“Wench! Wench, please, make an end of it. It's too much. Please, take your knife...”

“NO.”

Jaime was desperate then and tried to grab the weapon himself, but his good fingers were numb and shaking, and Briennne fended him off and held him, so he couldn't take his own life.

“Nymeria,” he begged. “You hate me. I know you do. I pushed Bran out of that window, back in Winterfell. I made him a cripple. Please, – aaaaawghoooods! – make an end!”

Brienne slapped him. It felt harmless, in contrast to what was going on where his hand was missing. She slapped him a second time. He realized she was weeping, and despite his own misery, it made him feel even worse.

“You will NOT have that happen, understand, Jaime? I won't let it happen. Scream as much as you need, but nothing else. I'll hold you.”

 

Of course, the blasted direwolf had to take side with the wench again. Seeing him in pain was likely more entertaining for the animal than a quick death; as it was, Nymeria didn't even show her fangs.

Jaime cursed and moaned and screamed for what felt like an eternity, though Brienne later told him it could only have been two hours, or perhaps a little more.

Then, the heavens opened their gates, and it started to rain heavily. In no time, they were soaked, despite the tent.

It was Brienne, who was cursing then; she put twitching Jaime against an odd tree trunk and ended the camp and packed their things. The only thing they could do in this weather was to try to reach the inn – and they'd have to walk all day.

Fucking. Great.

Jaime was so weak he could barely stand upright, so on top of all their possessions the wench had to half carry him as well. Even in the haze of pain that enshrouded his brain Jaime could only marvel at her sheer strength. Still, he knew that Brienne couldn't go on endlessly, and he pulled himself together and stumbled on as best he could.

Even so, two hours later, they had to pause, pouring rain not withstanding.

Jaime was at a level of wanting to give up himself again, this time from utter exhaustion.

Again, it was the stubborn wench, who refused this option and who came up with an idea of her own: “Nymeria, you're so big and strong now, almost pony-sized. Can't you carry him for a while?”

Man and animal were both scandalized at the prospect, and Jaime actually tried to get to his feet again... but his knees gave way under him.

After a fierce struggle, he finally ended up lying on Nymeria's back, and he and her clearly both thought it was below their dignity. The smell of damp direwolf fur did nothing to make the concept of getting carried by a blasted wild direwolf any more enjoyable.

 

For the next approximately three hours they made progress in this fashion of Jaime getting carried by Nymeria. Slowly, however, the wolf-bitch – strong as she was – grew tired. At the same time, Jaime slowly recovered from his horrible fit of phantom pain. So they had a short, wet breakfast, and afterwards, Jaime continued on his own feet, even if he couldn't walk as fast as usual.

They had to make many short breaks, there was no helping it. Unfortunately, the weather continued to be foul, so their clothes were as soggy as the earth.

In contrast to the humans, Nymeria didn't seem to care, and she went off hunting. That was probably the best thing, Jaime found, because the animal was still making him nervous – apart from him feeling like shit anyway.

 

On and on they trudged and fought their way... and finally, in the late afternoon, it was there, at the end of their narrow path: a building which had to be the inn that had been described to them.

Jaime was on his last legs, and Brienne didn't look much better. Nevertheless, they carefully checked the area for any possible dangers. Hmmm... things didn't look very good: there was a single horse in the stable whose saddle had a trout stitched on it. It wasn't a very precious mare – likely, its rider was a lowly Tully minion on a lone errand.

Little as Jaime liked it, the two had to take the risk to seek shelter here. He was simply too weak for any other options. However, things could probably be handled in such a way that the risk of getting recognized by an enemy could be minimized. After all, the two of them wore no obvious sigils, so there were some chances they'd be able to pass without any confrontation.

 

“No horses to tend to?” a thin voice suddenly peeped up from behind. There was a pockmarked stable boy fidgeting a grubby cap behind them.

It was Brienne who spoke up: “No, unfortunately not. The problem is that my husband is ill. Can we have a room, so he can lie down?”

The lad eyed them up and down suspiciously: “Sure, if you've got enough coin. Ya look like drowned rats.”

“It should be enough coin for a small chamber and some food and drink.”

Good idea – better not let the boy think they were rich.

“Well, yass, ya can follow me through them side entrance. I'll talk to an' get ya Mother Fyrrel.”

“Fine. Let's go.”

If they didn't have to cross the common room – all the better.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from myholiday trip (which was great, btw) and slowly getting back into fandom. :-)

The innkeeper, Mother Fyrrel, proved to be a short, fat woman with rust-coloured hair, whose breasts were so big that they reached her navel. She eyed them carefully and seemed to doubt their intentions. Well, it was no wonder in these times of war that she should check thoroughly on who was about to take up lodgings in her establishment. She only relaxed a little when they told her that they had been sent by Joss from the “Plucked Hen”.

She said to Brienne: “Ah, I see. Fine lad. Reliable, for all I've come to know him. All right, you can have a little chamber. Second floor, corridor to the right, last door on the left. Oh, and since your husband is ill – our local wise woman is down in the common room at the moment. You know men – they rather go to a tavern than to a healer, so our Mella comes to them. Good woman. I can send her up to have a look at your man.”

“I don't need any quackeries,” Jaime objected, remembering Qyburn treating his festering stump. It still gave him the shudders.

“He's one of those men who prefer a tavern to a healer, as you can see,” Brienne replied to the publican, and the two women suddenly exchanged some sort of conspirational smile.

Jaime cursed. It was all good and fine to get that Mother Fyrrel on their side, but he objected immensely to being the price that had to be paid.

As they were clambering upstairs, he thought of how he could pay the wench back – and grinned when something fitting came to his mind. He could already see her flush crimson and hear her protest, but it would only be for her own good.

 

The room was tiny, and what was worse: it was right above the dunghill. That had Jaime swearing again.

Brienne tried to soothe him: “What could we expect for a comparatively low price? And at least the room looks clean.”

Jaime rumbled: “You try to see something positive in everything, wench. Perhaps I should add to your list that I don't have to go to the privy when I need a shit and can just hold my arse out of the window.”

“Jaime, you're a hog.”

“Not just a hog: a sarcastic hog. That makes quite a difference, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asks you, Kingslayer.”

“Oh, are we back to that endearing term? And I thought you had forgotten about it, now that we've become intimate friends.”

“Perhaps I should ponder that status again.”

 

There was a soft knock on the door that put a stop to their quarrelling.

Brienne stomped over, opened the door... and froze in surprise.

There was a young, female commoner standing on the threshold, likely even a year or two younger than Brienne herself, and she was beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. With her slender figure, her curvy breasts, her fair hair and her green eyes she reminded Jaime of Cersei – only this woman had a placid smile on her lips, something his sister had never known.

“Good evening,” she chimed in a sweet voice. “I'm Mella, the healer. I've heard that there is a guest here who needs my help...?”

The only thing Jaime could think was why there should be any men who'd prefer a beer to her treatment.

He held up his stump and explained: “Yes, you're right. I've had a fit of phantom pain and now, I feel quite weak.”

“Not weak enough to stop your acid tongue,” Brienne growled.

She seemed really irked and looked from the healer to him.

Mella either didn't notice the aggressive tone, or she chose to ignore it and came closer. Gently, she took his arm and looked at the wound.

“This has been tended to in a very competent fashion. It has healed quite nicely, though your loss must only have happened a few weeks ago at best. Still, it's tender, of course, but the stump should become even better with time. There's no real cure against the cause of phantom pains, but I can give you a concoction to alleviate the effects. However, you should only drink it when it gets really bad, because it also dulls the mind. And there should be gaps between taking the medicine, so you don't get addicted to it. Besides, I can give you a herbal infusion that strengthens your overall condition and allows you to sleep better after a fit of pain.”

Jaime was grateful for Mella's words. It was good to hear from a professional that his stump was healing nicely, and her treatment sounded fair enough, given the circumstances. The young woman didn't make a show, or fuss around; neither did she pretend to heal him beyond what logics and natural laws allowed for in order to get more coin from a temporary patient who'd travel on very soon.

“Thank you for your support,” he emphasized. “Where have you learned your profession?”

“Oh, from my mother, ever since I had seen my fifth nameday,” Mella admitted freely.

“Sounds like a good training,” Jaime conceded and went on: “By the way, I'm not the only one who has got a health problem, though I don't know, if you can help in my wife's case as well.”

Brienne winced.

“What? Me?”

At the same time, Mella turned to the wench with new interest in her eyes and asked: “Oh, what is it? If you're referring to some female problem – there's quite a bit I can do, depending on the affliction. I've been married for a year, and I've had my first child, so these things are no mystery for me.”

Jaime was relieved to hear that. Besides, he also thought that the man who had married such a beautiful nymph had to be a lucky bastard.

He hurried on, because Brienne was already starting to bristle: “You're right, it has got something to do with the intimate aspects of wedded life.”

“That's private!” the wench groused, blushing.

“Usually it would be, but you – or we – do have a problem, and this woman is here to help, and she's an expert.”

Mella nodded avidly and added: “And I promise that nothing I hear in this chamber will be told to anyone else. I've got my code there.”

Not leaving Brienne any time to dodge his plan Jaime explained: “Fine. Well, my Nyma and me, we haven't been married for long. We have enjoyed quite a few things in the marriage bed already, but we haven't been able to consummate our relationship in the... most common way, because it hurt Nyma beyond the normal degree when a woman loses her maidenhood.”

 

Mella listened intently and spoke: “I see. It's very mindful of you then that you didn't press your bride so far. Most men wouldn't be so patient and understanding. You must really love her. Well, Nyma, let me tell you that you're not the only woman who has got issues of this kind. Let me examine you, so that we can find out what the problem is. Perhaps it's just a tiny little thing that can be mended easily.”

Brienne stuttered, because she was embarrassed: “I... uuh, I don't know, it's... I wasn't prepared.”

Jaime suddenly sensed that this was a moment where she needed her privacy and interrupted: “I'm strong enough, wench. I can sit down in the corridor for a few minutes and wait while you're being examined. That's no problem for me.”

He got up without further ado and stumbled out of the room.

 

Outside, he glided down the wall and into a sitting position. Inside, he heard some female murmurs. At some point, Brienne squealed a little. Immediately, Jaime was trying to get up again to come to her aid – but then, he heard that the female talk had started again.

A moment later, the door opened and Mella came out.

Jaime got to his feet and asked: “What is it?”

The young healer was serious, but not overly worried: “Your wife has got a bit of a sclerosis down there. Nothing dangerous, it just has to be removed, but it can be done quite easily. I'd have to sedate your wife and to cut the part in question away. Give her another day to recover, and then, you'll be able to enjoy the marriage bed like it should be. It was very good that you came to me with that question. Many people are too ashamed to ask for help and rather endure unnecessary ongoing pain and embarrassment.”

Jaime nodded and replied: “I'm relieved to hear this. I hope my wife doesn't mind the little operation.”

Mella smiled and said: “She has given her consent, although she feels uncomfortable about needing such treatment in the first place, but I assure you that her decision is right and that there's nothing to be ashamed of. I should add that after my little intervention she won't bleed when you finally bed her, because technically speaking, she won't have her maidenhood any more.”

Jaime waved his hand.

“Pfft! As if I'd be eager to make her bleed. Nah, I'll be happy, if we can go ahead without her having to be nervous.”

Mella smiled even more then.

“You're different from many men in that respect, let me tell you. Your Nyma must be a lucky woman to have someone so understanding.”

Jaime blushed a little and shrugged it off. Nobody had ever called him an understanding man.

To the wise woman he grumbled: “Whatever. Just go ahead and do what needs to be done.”

 

The healer nodded and returned to Brienne while Jaime waited some more in the corridor. A drunk man passed him with a room maid in his arms; he was bawling about the “Bear and the Maiden Fair”, and Jaime was reminded inevitably of the episode in the bear pit in Harrenhal.

After some time, the door opened again and Mella came out.

“Your wife is asleep, and everything is fine. You should get some rest now as well.”

Jaime breathed out in relief, noticing only then that he had been horribly nervous while Brienne had been being tended to. He hobbled into the room and saw her large figure in bed. She looked peaceful. So Jaime grabbed his purse and pressed three silver stags into Mella's delicate hand.

The young woman was no less than gobsmacked, because she had not expected such a generous payment, and she looked at him.

Of course, Jaime couldn't say: “A Lannister always pays his debts.”

Yet, he tried his best to convey the meaning of these words with his eyes. In a way, Mella seemed to understand them, even if she didn't know who he was. Her grateful smile was radiant, and when she left, Jaime could only think that she wasn't like Cersei at all.

 

He returned to his chamber and lay down on the bed, aligning his own body to Brienne's and putting a protecting left arm around her middle. Jaime knew he was being arrogant, but he was very content with himself about having steered the latest developments into this direction. He also hoped that his wench would be able to appreciate these changes in the very near future... and he himself as well.


	24. Chapter 24

In the morning, Jaime felt a lot better. On the one hand, the phantom pain and its effects had abated, and on the other hand, Brienne had reversed their position and had wrapped a possessive arm around him in her sleep, which was an oddly cute gesture, Jaime found. The only thing that was as unnerving as it had been in the evening was the foul stench from the dunghill outside.

As a consequence, he burrowed his nose in Brienne's tunic, and though the wench could do with a bath as well after all their travelling her natural smell was by all means better than the stench of excrements and other rotting material which pestered his Lannister nose.

 

After some minutes, Brienne stirred and murmured in her half-sleep: “Is Nymeria farting again?”

Jaime chuckled and answered: “I'm sure she's digesting some game out there at the moment, but these “sweet” aromas have got a different origin. And don't you dare blame ME now.”

The wench wrinkled her brow in confusion, and her sapphire blue eyes fluttered open.

She looked about herself and uttered: “Oh. I remember.”

And after a moment, she added a markedly piqued: “I remember INDEED.”  
Brienne withdrew her arm and scolded him: “What you did yesterday evening – that was insolent and insensitive and embarrassing.”

Jaime smirked: “And from now on, you can fuck merrily without having to fear the pain of losing your maidenhood any more.”

“Pfft! I'll believe that bit when I feel it.”

Jaime's grin deepened.

“How nice that you're so expectant to put the theory to the test.”

As a result, he received a smack on his side.

“You're twisting my words on purpose!”

“I'll do anything to enjoy your feminine attributes, wench. You've got me by my balls now, don't you know that?”

“You mean – I've got you by your balls until you reach King's Landing.”

 

That silenced Jaime. Her voice betrayed a hint of bitterness, which made him feel uncomfortable. He sensed the urge to tell her otherwise, yet, at the same time his mind ordered him not to feed her pretty lies that couldn't come true.

Thus, he tried to outplay the situation by jesting after a long moment: “Well, wench, many women have lusted to have me by my balls without ever getting there, so in contrast to them you're at an advantage.”

He sounded forced, and he knew it.

Brienne sighed.

“Whatever, Jaime. Let's just get up and have some breakfast. No passionate tumble for now – perhaps tonight. I need some more hours to recover, if I have understood this healer correctly.”

 

Jaime muttered a curse under his breath. After all their shared experiences he could barely wait any more.

“We'll have to stay another night in this inn then,” he declared. “For our first time, I want to have you in a proper bed. And I'd prefer one in another room – far away from the dunghill.”

“What about Nymeria in the meantime?” Brienne wanted to know.

The question confused Jaime.

“What do you mean, wench? She's a wild animal. She can look after herself. Besides, I can assure you I don't want to have her watching us again.”

The last sentence had her giggling.

“Afraid she might object to your performance?”

Jaime groaned: “And this coming from your mouth!”

 

Their bickering continued all day, but it didn't turn malicious, much to Jaime's relief. Despite their ongoing verbal skirmishes they managed to break their fast in a small back room where they were alone and couldn't be detected by any watchful eye. Moreover, they managed to talk Mother Fyrrel into giving them a new room.

Over the day, they busied themselves with repairing the moth-eaten tent. Brienne's stitches, which were supposed to mend the fabric, were so crooked that Jaime commented he could accomplish the same with his left hand...

… and whoops, he found himself face to face with the yarn, the needle and the tent. It caused him to come down a peg and to apologize, proud Lannister lion or not.

For lunch, they had some average-tasting cheese and goat's milk, and in the evening, they were served creamy barley with crisp bacon cubes. The food couldn't stand a comparison with the delicious meals in the “Plucked Hen”, but they made do.

 

If Jaine was honest – by now, he was on tenterhooks to bed Brienne in all possible ways. At the same time, he was more nervous than he wanted to admit. Most of the time when they had tried something out together it had begun with some sort of disaster, so he asked himself what would go wrong this time. Would there be pain for her despite what Mella had told them? Would the bed break down under their weight? Would he be... unable to perform for some reason (Gods forbid)? Would there be some... funny noises? Cersei detested noises that didn't sound sexy, but Jaime couldn't see Brienne think along the same lines.

 

In the end, the wench surprised him by grabbing him first and by pushing him onto the bed.

“That's it. Can't wait any more,” she declared. “I've watched you all day, twiddling your balls – no, thumbs – gods... damn, you know what I mean.”

Jaime erupted with laughter on hearing her slip of tongue, and he couldn't help but guffaw until his sides hurt. It was also the first time he could laugh about his handicap, and to his amazement it felt good. Moreover, it dawned on him that entertainment about his lost hand that wasn't vile, or directed against him, would be non-existent in King's Landing.

Meanwhile, Brienne had flushed crimson and had curled up into a big ball on the bed at his side. Well, then – felines loved to play with balls, and he was a Lion. Which meant he needed a big one.

Jaime grinned impishly and commented: “Oh wench, you're adorable for being the way you are, don't you know that? Always giving me the right cues for my stupid remarks and my even more oafish behaviour. But perhaps I can give YOU some inspiring cues now.”

 

With that, he started to tickle her with his left hand as best he could – which was good enough, as it turned out, for Brienne squealed like a little girl. And she cried blue murder. In no time, they were in the midst of a wild pillow scuffle. There was laughter on both sides, and Jaime couldn't remember when he had been so carefree for the last time. Perhaps when he had been hatching some mischief with Ser Addam Marbrand as a child, but after...?

 

At some point, Jaime looked at Brienne, who had just stopped for an instant. She was panting, and it caused his hammering pulse to accelerate even more. Further down, his cock started to react as well.  
A quick shove on his part, and he had the wench on her back. Wild kissing ensued. Damn him, from one moment to the next, Jaime was greedy for more than Brienne's cunt. He wanted her mouth as well, wanted to ravish her, wanted her heart, her soul... wanted everything. Had he stopped to ponder this, it would have been disconcerting, but his focus was elsewhere.

 

To his delight, Brienne wouldn't have been his stubborn wench, if she had not encountered his kissing attack with her own strategy, and their tongues were thus engaged in the fiercest possible duel. Breathing was getting laborious.

Fuck, that was good! The Maid of Tarth had caught fire, and Jaime wanted to fan the flames even more.

They started to grope and to fumble, their noses bumping once in the process, but it did not matter; their sole intent was to get naked. It didn't take them long to achieve this aim.

Brienne had become daring enough to run her strong hands over his side and to grab his buttocks.

Jaime gasped and muttered in between kisses: “This invasion calls for revenge, you know that, wench, don't you?”

Given the way she started to knead his backside and how one of her heels raked over his calves she understood him well enough. Things were becoming urgent. Measures needed to be taken.

 

Jaime pulled them over, so that they landed on their sides. With one hand lacking he had less support, which caused him to do it this way. Avidly, he sneaked his good hand between their bodies. Brienne was enthusiastic and parted her legs for him. To his immense joy, his fingers told him that she was already aroused. Dripping, to be precise.

Still, he wanted to make sure she had recovered enough. His movement was slow and careful when he slipped a first finger into her. No barrier, no twitching on her part that indicated any pain. Just a petite noise in her throat. Fantastic. Jaime added a second finger and elicited a gasp.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Y-yes. Will you feel like that with your...”

“Cock?”

“Mhm.”

“Similar, but different. Better, I hope.”

To prepare her some more, Jaime rubbed her sensitive spot with the pad of his thumb, causing Brienne's gasps to torn into moans.

He smiled and watched her in the fading daylight. Did she know how enticing she was when she was aroused and writhing like that, with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open? Not even her tooth space was a disturbing factor – somehow, it only made her more endearing. But Brienne was oblivious of her own glory. He'd have to tell her about it – every single day, until she believed him.

But for now, Jaime would just relish what she had on offer for him. His cock was twitching in anticipation, an epitome of merry eagerness.

Thus, his next move was to withdraw his hand from her body and to rub his tip against her instead.

Brienne moaned again and begged him: “Please, Jaime...”

That was all he had wanted to hear: he positioned himself at her entrance, basked in her juices and purred into her ear: “Look, who's coming home at last.”

 

Brienne's eyes snapped open, she gave his side a smack, and she had the nerve to scold him: “Stop uttering such male, bragging rubbish when you take me!”

Well.

Jaime had dreamed a lot about bedding his wench – but none of his mental versions had featured him laughing while sliding into her female opening for the first time.


	25. Chapter 25

Ooooh. Yesss. That was it.

His lids fluttered shut in sheer joy and his mouth opened.

Brienne felt good. No. Better than good. Mmmmh, delicious. Her large body was ready for him, warm, wet, inviting. A bit tight, where nobody else had ventured before him, but her muscles didn't clench in pain. What a relief!

With slow movements, Jaime started to thrust into her.

After two or three minutes, he asked in a husky voice: “Well, wench, what do you say?”

“Um – nice.”

 

Had someone spilled a pail of ice water over Jaime he couldn't have been more perplexed. Her underwhelmed tone and her wording... “nice” was one step above “I don't have to puke”, not more.

At once, he stopped, opened his eyes again and realized that Brienne didn't look half as ecstatic as he would have liked it to be.

“What is it, wench?”

She scratched her nose.

“Nothing. Really, you feel nice. It's wonderful to have you so close.”

“But...?”

Brienne didn't meet his look.

“I just... thought that this would be IT, some sort of substantial progress in comparison to what we've done already. Perhaps, my expectations were exaggerated, because the other things with you are so good.”

Ouch. Jaime couldn't believe it. He had never had such problems with Cersei. His sister was always hungry for him, told him what she wanted and came after a few minutes. Without exception.

At least this was what he had always believed. What she had let him believe. It dawned on Jaime that Cersei could feign arousal. Perhaps she had actually beguiled him more than she had Robert, because she had never cared to camouflage her disgust when it had come to her husband.

Brienne, however, was different. She was either aroused or she wasn't and would never pretend otherwise.

 

So... what now?

“Perhaps it's the position. Another angle might be better for you, wench.”

“Do you think so? Any ideas?”

Jaime grinned. He was an oaf when it came to matters of the heart he had to admit, but despite this fact, he had learned a few tricks.

“Yes, sure. Come,” he said.

 

For a moment, he pulled out, knelt on the ground, presented his seeping stiffness to Brienne, smirked and suggested: “Right. Come here and kneel as well. Embrace me and move down onto me. Straddle me.”  
Brienne arched her eyebrows.

“Wench, if you don't like it, we can try something else, just don't look at me as if I were stupid and give it a chance.”

She was hesitant and muttered: “It's only because this is so different from what I've heard people say...”

One day, he'd strangle the old septa of hers, Jaime vowed to himself.

He was about to give up in frustration... but at the very same moment, Brienne dumped herself onto him, and what she had lacked in curious enthusiasm right before she tried to make up with surprising ferocity.

In fact, Jaime had to soothe her and to murmur: “Careful.”

After all, this was still the first time that her cunt was involved directly... and he himself wasn't quite so fit after losing his hand either.

 

To his immense surprise, Brienne's face lit up.

“Oh! That feels better!” she announced and started to move on her own accord.

Jaime gasped; not from lust alone – the wench was pretty massive a woman.

Still, the position did have its advantages: yes, she was heavy, but Brienne had some agency in the movements, if she chose so. At the same time, Jaime could also toss her into the air; whenever she slumped back onto his cock she uttered a joyful whimper.

Jaime's heart started to sing, and he noticed another advantage: since Brienne was so tall her firm little breasts were easy to reach with his mouth. His lips and tongue and even teeth set to work before his brain could come up with a conscious command to do so, causing her head to fall back and her torso to arch some more into him.

Gods! Perhaps his wench didn't smell sweet like the perfumed women at court, but her skin had a strong female note nevertheless. Her perky pink nipples drove him insane, and so did the fact that her whimpers were turning into long, glorious moans. And all the while, she was sliding up and down his length, up and down, and Jaime could only think himself to be the luckiest fool on earth to be allowed to fuck such a wonderful woman.

Lick a bolt out of the blue, she suddenly winced and bucked, and her lower muscles started to suck at him like her mouth had learned to do. Brienne uttered a strangled whine.

That was the moment when Jaime forgot himself: he flipped her writhing body around and pumped and pumped, helped her ride out her peak – and then, it was him who was bucking, moaning helplessly. Again and again, he was calling her name, didn't even realize he was talking or what he was saying until much later when they were lying in bed side by side, silent, sated, half asleeep... and he asked himself with a strangely anxious heart, if he had said something stupid. Something dangerously romantic. Deep down he had an inkling that this was the very thing he had done.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I've got new projects at work and a feverish bronchitis at the moment, so I can barely gather a thought and the chapter is too short; just wanted to let you know I haven't abandoned the story.

In the morning, Jaime found his worries confirmed. Brienne shot him dark looks and spoke little. Well, if he had told her romantic gibberish in bed Jaime couldn't be cross with her. After all, it was clear that their relationship – sweet as it was for the time being – had no future. No wonder then if Brienne was keeping her distance now: a woman who didn't want to get her heart broken.

 

After a quick wash, they donned their clothes and descended to the common room in silence. Jaime was thinking of King's Landing. They needed to reach the capital, and quickly so, to get Sansa Stark out of there; next, Brienne would search Arya on her own, because he would have to work as a member of the King's Guard again. How little fascination that prospect held. And they had already lost far too much time, ever since they had lost their horses to the pack of wolves.

Speaking of wolves: They'd also have to think about Nymeria. Over the next few days, they'd have to cook up a plan. The big, fierce animal couldn't enter the city. 

 

When they reached the counter of the common room he got Brienne's elbow into his side, was shaken from his introspections and looked up.

Oh fuck. Something was wrong.  
People were flocking together in little groups and talking in hushed, urgent voices. Some people looked mildly hopeful, but most of them rubbed their beards, snorted in contempt or hang over the tables and the counter in silent brooding and glowering in contempt. Those were the people who had seen and heard too much in recent years, and who didn't expect things to improve, no matter the change.

 

Brienne spotted Mother Fyrrel, walked over to her and asked what was the matter. The publican muttered something under her breath. Brienne pressed a hand to her mouth in shock.

Jaime's guts started to burn, and he had the darkest feeling of apprehension.

The wench thanked mother Fyrrel, turned around, took his arm and murmured into his ear: “We'll go outside. To the dung heap. You'll want to vomit anyway.”

Gods, what...!?

They were barely in sight of their stinky destination when Jaime ground out: “What. Is. It?”

Brienne's blue eyes were full of grief. For him or for someone else?

“Jaime, I'm so sorry I have to tell you...”

She coughed.

“You must be strong now. King Joffrey is dead. Murdered by your brother and his wife – Sansa. Sansa managed to escape, but Tyrion... he tried to do so as well, but... Gods, I'm so sorry!”

Jaime didn't remember how it happened, but the next moment saw him on his knees and vomiting onto the offshoots of the dung heap – just like Brienne had predicted. The wench tried to support him, but he pushed her away with his good hand.

His mind was still incapable of grasping the truth: his first-born son and his brother had gone to meet the Stranger...


	27. Chapter 27

Jaime didn't know how long he was kneeling near the dung heap. Not so very long, perhaps, but it felt like an eternity. At some point, Brienne took him by the arm and led him to their room. Forgotten was any thought of breakfast. Of... anything beyond his grief.

Since they had meant to travel on they had already packed their things. In this situation, however, Jaime didn't care any more if the would go anywhere.

 

Brienne didn't say anything, but put her strong arms around him. It was despair that caused Jaime to lift his face to hers and to kiss her hard on the mouth. The wench stiffened for a few seconds, but then, she answered the touch. Within two or three minutes, Jaime was clinging to her and kissing her so wildly he saw stars. He urged her towards the bed with his body, and didn't stop the kiss when he started to fumble on the laces of her breeches.

As could be expected, Brienne was stronger than him; she pushed him pack a little and demanded to know: “Jaime, what on earth are you doing?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. So he coughed and tried to come up with an answer for the second time.

With difficulties, he managed to croak: “Brienne, please... let me have you. Let me forget for just a short while.”

 

Her look softened. She understood and gave him a sad smile.

“Come.”

It was all she said and all he needed. With far more nimble fingers than him did she open her breeches – and his own ones, too. They lay down. Jaime was shaking with tension and was not capable of a foreplay, but Brienne didn't demand any such thing. She simply guided him into her.

No, he wasn't a gentle lover then. Neither a good one. His mind was too shrouded with pain and his soul was screaming as he pumped into her until he burst apart. For once, he had been on top of her, and he had been heavy because he couldn't prop up himself on his stump. What little distance he had managed to keep was gone with his peak: he collapsed onto his wench.

 

Seconds later, his conscience started to gnaw at him, and he tried to withdraw. Brienne, however, put her long legs around him and said: “Stay.”

Jaime looked at her, and a tear dribbled down his nose and landed on her neck. How strong his wench was – on the in- and on the outside. He couldn't even fathom what he would have done had he been elsewhere. Without her.

Impossible.

It was impossible to be without Brienne, he realised. Jaime looked into her blue eyes and found a gentleness there that touched him directly in his core.

 

So while they were still joined and embracing each other it dawned on Jaime that he couldn't stomach losing her, now that he had lost two other family members. But what about Cersei?

Brienne's calloused fingers ran through his short hair, massaged his scalp – and Jaime's heart reached a decision. One he had never believed possible.

“I'm coming with you, wench,” he whispered.

 

Her hand stilled.

“What do you mean, Jaime?”

“I'm coming with you. I won't go back to the Red Keep. If Sansa managed to escape, she must have left the capital; otherwise, she'd be found and killed, and we'd be too late now. We'll try to follow her trail, or maybe we should start searching for Arya now first. After all, we've got Nymeria to think of, too.”

 

Gods, her blue eyes were so wide and beautiful.

“But Jaime – what about your position. What about... the rest of your family?”

Jaime traced one of her eyebrows with his fingers and he said: “I lost my position with my hand, let's face it. And the remaining Lions will have to take care of themselves. Besides, I've sworn an oath to Lady Stark, and it would be a good joke to keep it for once. With you at my side it might be possible. Without you at me side I'd be nothing. I see that now. Dearest wench – I love you.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, we're heading for the end of the story...

If Brienne had not let him go beforehand things changed within seconds; in fact, she pushed him away. The wench looked hurt.

“If you were not in mourning I'd call it the worst joke ever, Jaime, but as it is – and after yesterday evening – I'd say your mind is addled.”

 

In addition to his grief, he felt another sting in his heart, but he also thought that Brienne's reaction could hardly come as a surprise.

He said: “Even if that were the case – the truth stands that I've promised Lady Stark I'd find and save her girls, and that this won't be possible in King's Landing any more. Moreover, my dearest Lord Father will be Tommen's Hand by now, and I don't feel the inclination to go and meet him. I'm his only living son – and a crippled one, which he will detest. I don't want to find out what he's cooking up for me and would rather confront him with some facts.”

Brienne's voice was small when she asked: “What about... the new king? And your sister?”

Jaime's heart clenched when he thought of his remaining son.

“I cannot be for Tommen who I should be. Cersei... I haven't seen her in a long time. She's my sister, yes, and she'll always be. The same goes for her being the mother of our children. In those respects I do miss her. But I don't long for her the same way I used to do any more. I know I'd jump into a bear pit for you, Brienne. I don't know, however, if I could ever do anything as heroic and as valiant as that for her. Somehow I doubt it.”

The wench looked terrified.

“Don't you say such a thing, Jaime. In Harrenhal, you did what you felt compelled to do – and of course you'd do the same thing again for someone else.”

Jaime showed her a pained smile.

“Given the choice I would not want to find it out. But be that as it may. Let's go and find Arya Stark. Nymeria will be thrilled.”

 

They donned their clothes, grabbed their belongings and took them down into the common room. Jaime had recovered enough not to puke or to weep again, but it was extremely difficult for him to break his fast. The wench organised some provisions for the voyage, though they could only purchase little food from Mother Fyrrel. Once more, it showed that the country was at war, even if there had been no fighting in the immediate surroundings.

 

While he was nibbling listlessly on a piece of bread, Jaime listened to the talk of the other customers. He heard some mad stories from the capital: Sansa Stark was rumoured to have grown wings and to have flown away, another version said she had turned into a direwolf and had turned tail and run; in a third story, she had put a hex on Joffrey before the lad had died... Jaime shook his head in disbelief.

 

Brienne returned to him from the counter and murmured into his ear: “This gossip is crazy. Perhaps they were exaggerating with your brother's death as well.”

Jaime snorted and mumbled: “Wench, my brother was a DWARF. In contrast to others, I don't hold it against him, or I didn't, rather, but he'd have been too slow on his short legs to escape, and it's not as if there are any other dwarfs like him at court so that another man could have been mistaken for Tyrion. No, no, forget it. Let's get up and leave.”

 

The weather continued to be bad, and there were several showers, but it couldn't be helped. After some six or seven hours, Nymeria caught up with them. Jaime and Brienne were both very quiet, and for obvious reasons. At night, they had to huddle together because of the dropping temperatures, but they didn't sleep with each other again. Brienne kept her distance, and Jaime was in too depressed a mood anyway. Neither did they bring up the topic about love once more.

 

Finding a needle in a stack of hay would be easier than Arya, but they had to start somewhere. So they headed for the coast and went to Duskendale. Twice, they came across highwaymen and once across a handful of soldiers, but the robbers were dealt with by a most effective Brienne and a fierce Nymeria; luckily, the soldiers were so drunk and worn out that even Jaime managed to drive a knife home.

 

When they reached Duskendale, Nymeria stayed behind. She knew she wouldn't be welcome there. Brienne and Jaime chanced upon a hunchbacked man with ink, parchment and a cage with ravens.

“Messages to every place in the Seven Kingdoms!” he called. “Send ravens to your beloved! To your relatives on the battlefields! Ravens for King's Landing, Highgarden, Sunspear, the Vale, Lannisport and White Harbour.”

Jaime stopped.

“I want to send a letter to the capital,” he said to the man.

At once, the scribe smiled at his customer – though without recognition in his eyes, for which Jaime was grateful.

“Please take a seat at this table, good man. To whom am I supposed to write, and what?”

Jaime shook his head.

“I know some letters, though not well, and my handwriting will look like chicken scratches, but this is something I have to do myself.”

Brienne was as surprised as the hunchback, but Jaime couldn't be swayed. He had never been a learned man, had had many problems with his writing as a child, but his father had drummed in the letters relentlessly. And it was this man he'd be sending the raven to.

 

As it turned out, writing with the left hand was ten times more difficult for him than with the right one, but he told himself he could be as stubborn as the wench if he chose to.

He wrote in just the way Lord Lannister would understand:

“ _Dear Lord Father,_

_I am convinced that you will be Tommen's Hand by now and that in consequence, it will be you who will be reading these lines. First of all: please communicate my condolences to Cersei. About myself: I've been released by Lady Stark. On our voyage, the travelling party was beset by wolves. One of your lowliest minions was responsible for cutting off my sword hand. I have survived and recovered as best I could, but I won't be apt for my former task any more. Since Tyrion is dead I ask you to have Tommen release me from the King's Guard. Father, I have decided to marry to continue the Lannister bloodline, just as I know it is your wish. I have also made a choice as to whom I intend to marry. It is Lady Brienne, the heiress of Tarth. I assume you will find no fault in that, because she is of good lineage and because she is strong and healthy and will be able to give me healthy sons. Her father has not received any news of her over the last moons, so please inform him of her well-being and of our plans._

_Regards,_  
 _Jaime_.”


	29. Chapter 29

“What's this?” Brienne's angry voice erupted directly behind his back.

Jaime had been so concentrated that he had not noticed she had started to peek over his shoulder.

“Is that the way of it then? I never thought you to be like other men, but suddenly, you end up applying the same rules like them. So you're looking for a vessel that can breed your children, but doesn't disturb you otherwise. Only with me you're worse off, because you can't even use me for decorative purposes. I tell you what – stick that letter where the sun never shines!”

With those words, she turned around and stomped off. The scribe was looking at them from a safe distance, embarrassed to have witnessed this row, but he still pointed out that the parchment and the ink had to be paid. Though Jaime felt panic surge inside him he still folded the letter, sealed it, wrote “To Lord Tywin Lannister, Red Keep, King's Lading” on it and pressed it into the man's hands, together with a coin, and growled: “Send it and keep your mouth shut. This must reach the Hand of the King. If you fail – perhaps you've heard that the Lannisters always pay their debts.”

The hunchback paled and nodded wildly, but Jaime didn't stop to see if he obeyed as well. Instead, he ran after Brienne.

 

He reached the room in the inn where they were staying. The wench was already there and stuffing her belongings into her bundle. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“What do you think you're doing?” Jaime demanded to know.

“Have an intelligent guess, Kingslayer. What does it look like to you? I'm leaving. You want to find the Stark girls? Fine. Do it alone. I'll go my own ways.”

 

That was exactly the moment when Jaime got as angry as he had never been since he had offered to become Brienne's shieldmate.

“You know what, wench? You're too stubborn and too insecure of your own worth as a woman to accept what I've been telling you. I love you, and I've said it before, but you don't want to believe it, just because you don't have Cersei's golden looks. Damn, I shit on the looks, because you're not only my lover, but also my friend. My shieldmate. That's something Cersei could never be: a friend. What else? See, I shit on whether my father will actually approve of our relationship or not, too, only it would make things easier. That was why I wrote the letter the way I did, not because I meant the words. For once, only for once I tried to be diplomatic towards my father – four YOUR sake. Yes, I see it now, I should have proposed to you first, but I didn't expect the scribe with the ravens and I've never bloody wooed a woman before and don't know how to do it properly. And you know why? Because I've never had another woman but Cersei, you know it yourself. I couldn't strive for a normal relationship with her, couldn't hope for a marriage, so I never cared about these matters. And even if I had done so I still wouldn't know a thing about how to woo YOU, because you're so different and so special, and my heart would be in my boots, no matter what.”

 

Brienne's lips were trembling and her eyes were so wide it wasn't natural any more.

Despairing, Jaime finished: “Well, here we are. You want to leave and to run away from your own feelings. I know you love me, and don't tell yourself anything else, but what does it help? I can't stop you, because you're stronger, healthy, fitter, taller. Normally, I love your strength, just like I do everything else, and no matter that I would have never anticipated it when I laid my eyes on you for the first time. Back then when I was a prisoner and you already sworn to Lady Stark. And now it's the first time I want to curse your strength. Though no – I'm rather cursing my own weakness and incompetence to treat you the way you would deserve it. Do you know what it's like for me, a man who has got shit for honour, to feel so strongly for you that it has become a life force? I guess not. So... when you go – take my heart and my breath with you. I won't need it any more.”

 

Jaime panted after the monologue and felt hollow. He turned around and looked out of the window without actually seeing anything.

There were some heavy steps coming closer; then, he felt Brienne's warm breath streaming down his neck – along with little shivers. Goose flesh rose on his skin.

Tears were in the wench's voice when she spoke up: “You're really a stupid man, Jaime. You don't have a clue. You're rambling on and on and on, about everything and anything – but you're still not down on your knees for a proposal. Even a huge, bulky warrior woman, who has got no breasts to speak of, should have a romantic proposal, because deep down she might be a romantic girl nevertheless, you know?”

 

Jaime turned around and swallowed. Looked into a pair of the bluest eyes he could fathom. They were watery, close to the bursting of a dam.

His knees gave way. He took the calloused hands of his beloved into his own good one and noticed her swallow as well.

 

Jaime Lannister, the man with the golden hair and the silver tongue could only croak when he asked: “Lady Brienne... will you marry me?”

 

A single sob burst from her throat. The next moment, strong female arms grabbed him. Threw him onto the bed. Hungry lips claimed his own ones until he could barely breathe any more.

“Is that a “yes”?” he gasped in between kisses.

Brienne nodded into the caress. Next, they were somehow laughing and weeping at the same time. Jaime had never been so happy in his life.

 

It all ended abruptly when heavy, booted steps started to resound in the common room.

“The Kingslayer? Are you sure?” a male voice asked.

“FUCK!” Brienne and Jaime cursed in unison.

 

The wench bolted the door, and Jaime grabbed the purse with their money.

“Forget the rest!” he whispered.

Brienne nodded, opened the window and swung herself out. They were fortunate, because the jump wasn't a deep one. Jaime came second, and the wench helped him.

They turned a corner... and ran into an armed guard, who was holding three saddled horses. Tully Trouts! Quicker than Jaime ever thought he could be with his left hand he thrust his knife into the man's neck.  
The horses whinnied and tried to shy. Jaime clapped the flat of his hand onto one flank, let go of the reins, and the animal bolted. Next, he and Brienne mounted the remaining steeds – fine specimen, luckily.  
“The horses!” they heard a man call behind them, but didn't stay to find out which face belonged to the voice.

At neck-breaking speed, Jaime and Brienne darted off, out of Duskendale.

 

For hours they could tell they were pursued by several more men, and those were far too close for their taste – but occasionally, they also heard the screams of men and horses alike, taken down one by one.

“Nymeria,” Jaime panted, and Brienne nodded.

At long last, they were only followed by silence any more; it was the first time Jaime wanted to bless the direwolf for her prowess. They slowed down their tired horses and were just as exhausted.

 

“Where to? What would you say?” Brienne asked.

“North. Let's go to the Quiet Isle. We can marry there. And the monks on the island – at least those who travel – hear and see a lot. Perhaps they can help us find the Stark girls.”

A smile appeared on the wench's lips.

“Even a fool like you has got his light moments, by the look of it. Off to the Quiet Isle then.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter
> 
> There is some content show-only watchers would consider spoilery. Again, I've put it in italics.

They didn't have a single calm night after that. Occasional stolen kisses and some quick lustful rubbing – that was all Jaime and Brienne dared to do, in case they had to make a quick escape. People were after them, even if they were not in eyesight.

At least, they made good progress with their horses. The only thing was that Nymeria was more tired now, because at wasn't so easy for her to keep up with them any more. For that reason, they also didn't rely on the animal's vigils any more when they made camp, but took their turns and let the wolf sleep as well. Neither could they light any fires, so their slumber was a frosty and hard one without their lost bedrolls.

One evening, Jaime said to Nymeria: “We're doing a poor job, right now, I know, but we'll be trying to find Arya first. If Sansa doesn't literally stumble in our way, that is.”

The direwolf had been lying with her head on her paws, but she pricked up her ears and uttered a little whine.

“It's the first time you're answering me in a civil way, Nymeria, do you know that?” Jaime asked.

The wolf bitch yapped once, and Jaime thought that if the two of them could make their peace perhaps one day he could do so with the remaining Starks as well.

 

After a while, the trio neared Maidenpool, but when they overheard by some peasants that Lord Tarly was residing there since the sack of the city they made a detour around the settlement. They travelled onwards and kept up their speed as best they could. Finally, they arrived near the ferry that would take them to the Quiet Isle.

Again, Nymeria had to stay behind. She had lost weight and needed to recover, to rest and to hunt.

 

On the island, they were met by several brothers in brown-and-dun robes who led their horses to a stable. _The animals wouldn't be alone, because an angry stallion could be heard rampaging in the stables. They hoped their steeds wouldn't be infected with the other one's foul mood, but Brienne and Jaime didn't have the time to look in detail, because they were addressed by one of the monks._

“My name is Brother Narbert, one of the proctors on this island, and today, I may speak to you while the others are under a vow of silence. What do you want here, in this peaceful refuge?”

 

Jaime cleared his throat and answered: “We have come here for two reasons: my fiancée and I, we want to marry and we'd like to ask if you've heard of the whereabouts of a certain person. We swear on the name of the Seven that we're looking after said person to keep her safe.”

Brother Narbert bethought himself.

“The wedding is the easier part for the beginning. We can carry out the ceremony right away in our sept. The only thing is that I will perform the rites. The Elder Brother, who presides here, will have no time for you at the moment. _He is in the Hermit's Hole, where he lives, and is tending to a man who is fatally ill. We're still praying for the man's survival.”_

_Jaime couldn't help himself, but Brother Narbert looked as if the prayers for that man were more of an ordeal than a delightful task, but what did he care?_

“That's all right for me. What do you say, wench?”

Brienne nodded.

“Fine,” Brother Narbert said. “Considering the information you're asking for – you will have to wait for the Elder Brother in this case, because he's the one who also travels to the mainland and hears all sorts of things. In that case you'll have to stay overnight. We've got some huts on the eastern side of the island. Women may only sleep there, not here at the cloister. As a wedded couple the rule would apply to both of you.”

Jaime and Brienne raised no objections.

 

At once, Brother Narbert turned, made for the sept and beckoned them to follow suit. Jaime's heartbeat accelerated, and the wench looked as if she was feeling the same sudden nervousness.  
Before the ceremony, there was one last problematic moment: when Brother Narbert learned the Kingslayer's name. The man paled.

“I've heard from you,” he said and added: “You're a man of the King's Guard. You have sworn to remain celibate. I cannot allow you to marry.”

Jaime held up his stump then and answered: “I can't fight any more, as you can see. Moreover, my brother has died, and my father, the king's Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister, wants me as his heir. I tell you, I'm no member of the King's Guard any more. Besides, I'm known to be an oathbreaker, so while still at late King Robert's side I sinned with his wife, my own sister. I'd rather prefer to sin with a proper wife of mine now, and to save the last bit of my soul that may not have fallen to damnation yet.”

Brother Narbert gaped in shock, turned to Brienne and asked: “Are you sure you want to be bound to that man?”

The wench's voice was strong when she said “yes”. Next, she leaned over to Brother Narbert and whispered something into his ear.

The monk flushed crimson, coughed and declared: “Let us begin then. I'll just gather a few brethren as witnesses.”

 

“What did you tell him, wench?” Jaime wanted to know while they were alone for a moment.

Brienne blushed like the monk had done, but didn't answer, and Jaime wondered if she had told Brother Narbert that they had already fucked quite a bit. Well, he wouldn't press her on the matter, not on this day, and he shrugged.

 

Several monks entered.

The ceremony started... and Jaime forgot everything he'd ever known. Brienne even had to give him a little smack on his good arm to make him speak at the right moments. There were no cloaks, so he had to drape the cloth from the altar around her strong shoulders. Yet, he didn't care one whit about it. Perhaps, it was even better that this was done without Lannister colours.

Finally, he gave Brienne an uncharacteristically shy peck on her lips. His wench was smiling and weeping and never in his life had he seen someone as radiant as her.

 

Afterwards, the monks provided a humble snack, which included some fresh, warm chestnut cake. No feast in King's Landing had ever featured such delicious food in Jaime's eyes. Later, he and his wench were shown the way to a few beehive huts on the other side of the island.

Their wedding night was a rave of lovemaking. He and Brienne did everything they had tried out before – and experimented with a few new positions as well. It was as if the Seven had shown them a benign smile. Jaime couldn't get enough of his wench, not even when his cock was starting to feel sore; he resorted to caressing her with his mouth then until she had come two more times and was so pumped out that they both fell asleep in each other's arms, warm and heavy and sated.

 

They were still moving gingerly when they met the Elder Brother on the evening of the following day. The man, who was accompanied by a big, rugged-looking dog, exuded friendliness and wasn't as old as Jaime had imagined him to be.

_“How's your patient?” he attempted to initiate some small talk._

_“The Seven will decide his fate,” was all the answer he got to that._

The monk went on: “I heard from Brother Narbert about who you are and that you're searching for someone.”

“You're right. I'm looking for Arya Stark. I gave her mother a promise to find her and her elder sister Sansa, to keep them safe and to return them to their family in exchange for my freedom. I know, I'm an oathbreaker and not to be trusted, but Brienne is sworn to Lady Stark, and my wife is honourable and honest.”

The Elder Brother's eyes were smiling.

“Yes, maybe it's good to start your quest with Arya Stark. What is that family motto again? “Winter is coming.” It's true. I don't know any details, but I'd advise you to go to the Saltpans. To the harbour. Many people come and leave from there, even now that the town has been sacked and devastated. But be careful with your coin. No need to bring your horses with you. You can leave them here or sell them in town. And while you're away I'll keep my ears open for any news of Sansa Stark.”

Jaime thanked the man for his advice and though he couldn't lay a finger on it he had a feeling that the man wasn't just doing guesswork about what would be the best mode of action.

“If we really need to go abroad we'll sell the horses in town. But take these two gold dragons for your and your brethren's kindness,” he said.

 

The next morning, after mass, they packed their scarce belongings and made for the pier of the ferry. Their horses were already there.

When they reached the shore Nymeria was lying in wait and joined them within minutes, much to the horses' chagrin. The wolf-bitch looked rested.

“What do we do with her if we have to, let's say, sail to Essos?” Jaime asked.

“Try to take her with us,” Brienne said at once.

“Are you mad?” Jaime was incredulous. “How should that work? Nobody will be willing to take a direwolf aboard.”

“Not a direwolf,” the wench conceded. “But a watchdog, even if it's very big.”

Jaime had a fit of laughter. After all, Nymeria was more or less grown and almost pony-sized by now.

“We'll see,” he chuckled and left it at that.

 

In the Saltpans, they were shocked by the degree of destruction, even if they had known something like this was awaiting them. They hid Nymeria in the house of a ruin on the outskirts and gave her some food they had brought along. The wolf was content, started to munch away on her snack and looked as if she'd grasped the idea: that she would have to wait for them in this hideout.

 

_As it turned out, there were a few citizens left, and they told the newcomers gruesome stories of the sack of the town. Jaime couldn't believe everything he heard, especially about one warrior he had known in the past, who was believed to have gone berserk. Jaime didn't comment on it, because it wouldn't have helped in any way._

Instead, the made for the harbour – and there, they were lucky indeed. One man remembered a bony, dark-haired, tomboy little girl without a family or friends, but with a horse and the vocabulary of someone who had received some better education. As a dock worker, he even remembered her going aboard a ship to Braavos.

 

Jaime remembered the Stark girl well enough from his time on the Kingsroad and from their joint time in King's Landing, even if he had not seen her often. He also recollected that there had been a Braavosi at court at that time, a good fighter who the little rascal might have known as well.

“That's her!” he mouthed to Brienne and watched his wife begin to smile in triumph.

 

“Eeeeeeeeeehhh!”

A traumatized boy darted out of a ruin, screeching like mad at a ghost only he could see. Brienne's horse whinnied and reared up; the wench, who was holding the reins, stumbled sideways and fell into a heap of rough, wooden boxes.

It was a minor wonder that neither the boy nor Brienne got trampled by the hooves. For a moment, Jaime thought his heart would hop out of his ribcage, but then, he sighed in relief. What was less fortunate was that his wife had received a bad cut on the cheek by the boxes.

“Wench, that needs to be treated and to be stitched up,” he said. “Good man, do you know a healer who could see to the wound?”

Of course the dockworker did. He was a rough, but also a friendly man; he even showed them both the way to a wise woman and pointed to a ship.

“I take it the girl was from your family, right? Did she run away? Ah, well, none of my business. That transport ship over there is bound for Braavos as well. They need Westerosi wood over there, you know? Oh, and if you want to sell your horses you can do it in that half-burned stable down the street.”

 

Jaime gave the man some coin for his support. While Brienne was heading for the wise woman Jaime took the horses, who had calmed down by then.

The horse trader was confused when he wanted to exchange the animals for two old mares he spotted in the half-demolished boxes.

“I want to make a fortune, I won't lie to you, because I can see you've got an eye for horses,” the stable owner admitted. “So... why do you want to exchange these ones for yours?”

Jaime shrugged: “I mean to go on a voyage and I've got a watchdog who I need to take along. So I'll be in need of meat, but my horses are young and valuable and have done me a good service.”

There was no more haggling, and the pact was sealed.

 

It proved to be far more difficult to talk the Braavosi captain of the ship into accepting them all as passengers on board. Especially the animals proved to be a handicap. Finally, it turned out to be an advantage that they had enough money.

In the end, Jaime rubbed his hands in contentment and explained: “My watchdog is a very special mix. Looks like a huge wolf, but loyal and gentle towards the owner. Want to see if I can breed her in Braavos.”

The captain shrugged his shoulders at the business concept and only thought of the money he had earned that afternoon.

 

Brienne's stitched-up face didn't look good, and there would be an ugly scar in the future, but the treatment had been sound. Together, they made for the house where Nymeria was waiting.

“Wolf,” Jaime announced, “you're something extra-special. You'll be the first direwolf ever to sail to Braavos. And don't you dare protest now – we've paid a lot for your passage to get you to Arya.”

Nymeria looked from one face to the other. It was clear she didn't have a clue what the humans were talking about. Only when she heard the name “Arya” did she utter a little whine.

 

Under the cover of darkness, Nymeria was piloted aboard the ship. On the gangway, the wolf looked into the frothy salt water and tucked her tail between her legs. Brienne had to lure her onwards with all her female charm and promises of seeing Arya again.

Jaime had never seen Nymeria so frightened and docile; she now rather behaved like the animal Lady Sansa had owned before it had been killed on the Kingsroad. Well, at least the charade for the captain could be kept up this way.

 

At dawn, the ship was gliding out of the harbour. Brienne looked at the waves, here eyes dreamy.

“What are you thinking of, wench?” Jaime asked.

She turned to him and smiled.

“I'm thinking that from now on I've got two reasons for being sick.”

For a moment, Jaime didn't have the faintest idea what Brienne was talking about.

Then, realisation exploded in his head like a bolt of lightening. His jaw sagged.

“You mean...?”

“Yes.”

“Gods, Brienne!” Jaime breathed, took her in his arms and kissed her.

All of a sudden, he felt light-headed – and it had nothing to do with the ship's rocking movements.

 

There was a long, pitiful whine next to him.

“Nymeria,” he said and turned sideways, “what is it? Aren't you proud you're doing this journey for your little mistress?”

The direwolf puked right onto his boots.

Jaime cursed and asked Brienne: “She isn't in the same state like you, is she?”

The wench looked at him with her sapphire blue eyes and could only answer: “I know nothing about her species, my dear.”

Jaime groaned and had a dark premonition: that their search for the Stark girls wouldn't be a simple quest, but that it would turn into the Kingsroad to the Seven Hells.

 

*~*~*~*~*~* **THE END** *~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this was it. My first long fanfic with J/B as my main pairing. I know I made some mistakes along the way, but this was also about learning for me. I hope you enjoyed the story and I would like to thank you for your many comments, for the positive words as well as the concrit (which was helpful throughout). I've been grateful for each single kudo and all of your wonderful words.  
> The open ending calls for a sequel or two (along the lines of "waylaying Arya" and "saving Sansa"), so if anyone of you is willing to pick up the cue... ;-)
> 
> Oh, and one last thing I wanted to remind you of, one of Jaime's statements: "Wench, my brother was a DWARF. ... he'd have been too slow on his short legs to escape, and it's not as if there are any other dwarfs like him at court so that another man could have been mistaken for Tyrion." *thinking back on Joffrey's wedding feast...*


End file.
